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HUDSON EDITION. VVovW -i-./. 


SALMAGUNDI; 


OR, TUB 

WHIMWHAM8 AND OPINIONS OF LAUNCELOT 
LANGSTAFF, ESQ., AND OTHERS 


WILLIAM lEVING, JAMES KIRKE PAULDING 
' I 

WASHINGTON IRVING 


In hoc eat hoax, cum quiz et jokesez, 

Et smokem, toastem, roastem folksez, 

Fee, faw, fum. Psalmanazar 

With baked and boiled, and stewed and toasted. 

And IVied and broiled, and smoked and roasted. 

We treat the town. 


PRINTED FROM THE ORIGINAL EDITION, WITH A PREFACE AND NOTES 
BY EVERT A. DirYCKINCK - o 1 I ’ > ; 


^ 'i * V ♦ 

NEW YORK ’ 

G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS 

27 AND 29 West 23d Street 


[*=^0 








Entered according to Act of Congreea, in the year 1860, by 

THE EXEClTTOBa OF 

J. K. Pauldino and Washington Irvtng, 
in the Clerk’s Ofilce of the District Court of the United States, fof 
the Southern District of New York. 

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EDITOR’S Preface. 


B HE present reprint of the following papers has 
grown out of the repeated demand, of late 
years, for an edition of Salmagundi, worthy to 
accompany the collected volumes of the writings of the 
distinguished author. The book would probably have 
been included by Mr. Irving in the revised edition of his 
works, had it been wholly his own. It was published 
some time ago, in the series of the writings of his friend 
and relative, the joint author of the essays, Mr. Paulding, 
and though it had been long out of print in that form, 
Mr. Irving did not seem disposed to break the associa¬ 
tion. He was accustomed, indeed, to speak of it as a 
light, trivial publication, the sport of his boyish days; 
and he certainly showed no eagerness in reviving it; but 
we cannot suppose him insensible to the many excel¬ 
lences which the work undoubtedly possesses—charms of 
manner and of thought springing from the fresh joyous 
period of youth, and lending their grace to the brightest 
pages of his matured labors. Salmagundi is the literary 

7 










8 


EDITOR'S PREFACE. 


parent, not only of the “ Sketch Book ” and the “Alham¬ 
bra,” but of all the intermediate and subsequent produc¬ 
tions of Irving, even of some slight ornaments of the 
graver offspring of the “Columbus” and “Washington.” 
There is, for instance, in one of the later numbers, a 
chapter of “ The Chronicles of the Benowned and Ancient 
City of Gotham,” which anticipates the humor of Knicker¬ 
bocker ; there are traits of tenderness and pathos sugges¬ 
tive of the plaintive sentiment of the “ Sketch Book;” 
and the kindly humors of the Cockloft mansion are an 
American “ Bracebridge Hall.” 

The book, in fact, is every way in place in company 
with the series of Mr. Irving’s writings. It was not all 
of his composition, to be sure, nor did it receive that care 
of revision at his hands, bestowed upon his other com¬ 
positions in his latest editions; but, without separating 
his part from the rest, and making every allowance for 
inexperience of style, we may readily enough detect 
throughout its pages the genius of Washington Irving. 

Leaving the particular elucidation of the special author¬ 
ship of the various articles to his literary executor and 
biographer, if he shall think proper in his forthcoming 
work to make such an investigation and disclosure, we 
may here generally state, for the information of the 
reader, that Salmagundi was the joint production of 
William Irving, James Kirke Paulding, and Washington 
Irving. It is well known that the humorous and senti¬ 
mental poetry of the work was wholly written by William 



EDITOR'S PREFACE. 


9 


Irving, who was at the time a merchant of New York, 
and some seventeen years older than his brother Wash¬ 
ington. The genial and inventive faculties of William 
Irving were of a high order. Besides the poetry of Sal¬ 
magundi, the work is indebted to him for occasional hints 
and sketches worked up by his brother, among which 
may be mentioned the amusing picture of the civic 
militia exercises in the letter of Mustapha, in the fifth 
number, and the equally humorous sketch, of more se¬ 
rious import, of the political “ slang-whangers ” in the 
fourteenth. 

William Irving married the sister of James Kirke 
Paulding, who came from his home in Westchester 
County, to New York, for the first time, on a visit to 
his new relative. He found the house of his brother- 
in-law in the city the genial resort of a knot of wits and 
humorists who graced the Calliopean Society, a literary 
institution of those days. An intimacy with Washing¬ 
ton Irving sprang up, of which in due time came the 
joint authorship of Salmagundi, which was thus a species 
of family party. A considerable portion of the book 
was written by Paulding. We may, perhaps, trace his 
pen in the oriental papers, a form of writing for which 
he retained a liking, and which he practiced with great 
spirit and elegance to the last. Many of the exquisite 
passages of description of nature were undoubtedly writ¬ 
ten by him. ‘‘ Mine Uncle John,” a mellow, fine toned 
portrait, was his work, and he had a hand in ‘‘ Autumnal 


10 


EDITOR*a PREFACE. 


Kefl^ctions,” one of the most refined sentimental papers 
of the volume. It is, perhaps, a common misapprehen¬ 
sion of this eminent writer, that his pen was wanting in 
geniality, and that he took rather a splenetic view of life. 
This notion has probably arisen from the admission of a 
controversial element into his productions where, per¬ 
haps, it might have been better shut out; but certainly, 
with this exception, no American writer has spread upon 
his page more feeling observation, more friendly truths, 
more genial sympathies. His favorite method of the 
apologue affords a kindly proof of this, which is not to 
be mistaken by those skilled in literary physiognomy. 

Some ten years or more after the conclusion of Sal¬ 
magundi, Paulding ventured alone upon a second series. 
Washington Irving was in Europe, and the muse of Pin¬ 
dar Cockloft was silent. It was a dangerous undertaking, 
for the very essence of a Salmagundi is the combination 
of divers ingredients—a product of many minds. The 
new work proved a little too uniform and didactic in 
parts. Geoffrey Crayon could have pruned and height¬ 
ened it here and there. Yet it contains many delightful 
pages. There is, among other things, a charming account 
of a further visit to the old Cockloft Hall, inviting as the 
old. One passage in it—the death of old Caesar—has 
a genuine touch of pathos. The cherry-tree had fallen 
which he had assisted his master to plant sixty years 
before, and the poor negro “ seemed smitten with the 
same blast that leveled it. It was curious,” concludes 


EDITOR’S PREFACE. 


11 


the little narrative, “ to see how the errors of his early 
impressions—for he was sixteen years old when brought 
from Africa—had mixed up with the simple ideas im¬ 
planted subsequently, respecting the Christian religion. 
His kind mistresses ministered to the wants of his soul, 
as well as the infirmities of his body, and endeavored to 
make him comprehend the mysteries of our faith. But 
they were beyond his reach. He feared, he said, ‘ the 
Lord would not know him ’—meaning that, lowly as he 
was, it might escape the Divinity that such a being had 
ever existed. His decay was gradual, but the state of his 
mind was singularly compounded of the mistakes of 
ignorance and the ramblings of light-headedness, as it is 
called. The day before he died I was in to see him. 
‘ Massa Launcelot,’ said he, ‘think old negro like me ever 
go to heaven?’ ‘I warrant you, old Caesar,’ replied I. 
He seemed comforted with the assurance, but still a 
doubt hung on his mind—‘ What will old negro like me 
do there ? ’—Then his eye seemed glad for a moment, and 
his last words were—‘ Never mind—I can wait upon the 
angels.’ ” 

While we write, the remains of this author, at the ven¬ 
erable age of eighty-two, are being borne to the tomb. 
It is due to his memory, and to his generous participa¬ 
tion in the literature of the day, to express the opinion 
that when the productions of Paulding, now for some 
time hidden from the world, shall be revived, the public 
will again find in them a freshness and interest, a spirit 


12 


EDITOR’S PREFACE. 


and humor, unabated since their first appearance. To 
the inhabitants of New York in particular, they will pre¬ 
sent strong claims to attention, for the author, though 
he turned his back upon the city, was a genuine son of 
Manhattan. 

Of the third writer, Washington Irving, it is not nec¬ 
essary here to speak, nor have we occasion, as we have 
said, further to point out his share in the work. The 
many graces and excellences of his style are too well 
known for the reader to need a guide to find them 
out. He will meet everywhere in these pages the first 
sprightly efforts of invention, the playful humor, the 
sportive fancy, the tender sentiment, which constituted 
in youth as in age—Washington Irving. 

A word should be said of the publisher of the work, 
David Longworth, a gentleman as much given to whim- 
whams as any of the race so pleasantly satirized in the 
little yellow-covered numbers which he sent forth fort¬ 
nightly to the public. He was the theatrical publisher 
of the day, in the neighborhood of the old Park Theatre, 
then a new building, holding his place of business on the 
spot now sacred to the good cheer of Windust. Here he 
displayed, on the outer wall, a huge painting of the 
crowning of Shakespeare ; while within, a distinction for 
those times in the infant state of the arts, his shop 
boasted as its attraction a series of the prints of Aider- 
man Boydell’s recently published Shakespeare Gallery. 
He had been a printer, and had engrafted on his occupa- 




EDITOR'S PREFACE, 


13 


tion a taste for elegance in typography, engraving, and 
binding. His beautiful “ Telemachus ” and other publi¬ 
cations, would, in our day, be simply accounted neat; 
but in his time they made a sensation, very much as luxu¬ 
ries of furniture and living, now enjoyed by everybody, 
were then considered somewhat aristocratic, and reserved 
only for undoubted affluence. But Longworth had a 
special whim for elegance. He called his shop, by a fine 
effort of the imagination, “The Sentimental Epicure’s 
Ordinary; ” and as a proof of his judgment, trifled with 
the English language. In the original edition of some of 
his books, proper names are spelt with small initial let¬ 
ters. Oddly enough, the man who was so grandiloquent 
himself would not allow New York its appropriate capi¬ 
tals. It must be written new-york, and portly Philadel¬ 
phia must dwindle in lower-case. The wags of Sau^a- 
GUNDI, while they were laughing at the town, must some¬ 
times have been tempted to place a full length of their 
humorist publisher on his pages. 

Salmagundi was quite a success on its first appearance. 
It did not make a fortune for its authors. That was 
hardly to be expected of so modest a little pamphlet; 
but it created its impression. Slight as it was in form, 
and apparently written off so carelessly, it was really the 
most formidable incursion which had yet been made in 
America into the realm of taste in this species of litera¬ 
ture. Franklin had written a half dozen agreeable essays 
for a newspaper, and addressed a few complimentary 


14 


EBITOR'8 PREFACE. 


apologues to the French ladies. Francis Hopkinson was 
really an elegant author, who, like Belknap in the Forest¬ 
ers, had turned the graces of his pen to the decoration 
of politics; Dennie wrote some ingenious lay sermons, 
and was steeped in rhetorical refinements : but none of 
these were read by the fair. We do not, indeed, recall 
a single book written in America worthy of Belinda’s 
toilet-table before Salmagundi. 

As for the success out of doors, it must have been a 
cheerful thing to witness. Dr. Francis, the genial remi¬ 
niscent, tells us:— 

“ Ere half a dozen numbers of Salmagundi were issued, 
quite a commotion arose among the literati and the pub¬ 
lic concerning the work and its authors. The humble 
drudges about town, who had lived obscurely, yet fancied 
themselves members of the literary world by their re¬ 
vision of Dilworth; and the editors of catechisms with 
explanatory notes, were astounded at that greater eclat 
which elegant letters secured, and which was denied to 
their uninventive products; while fashionable coteries 
everywhere were prodigal of conjectures from what mine 
the gold dust was brought to light for the commonwealth 
of letters. Salmagundi was found at almost every tea- 
table. The sale announced the fact that literary property 
was both vendible and profitable.” 

The “ characters ” sketched in these pleasant papers 
were doubtless drawn more or less from the life, and 
included most of the notabilities of the town, with occa- 


EDITORS8 PREFACE. 


15 


sionally a glance beyond it. There are said to be some 
touches of Dennie, the essayist and critic of Philadelphia, 
in Launcelot Langstaff. A whole bevy of beaux and 
belles saw themselves reflected in the Ding Dongs and 
Sophy Sparkles. The base metal of Brummagem adven¬ 
turers and spendthrifts was nailed to the counter by the 
satire of Straddle: theatrical critics were silenced by a 
glance at themselves in the mirror of ’Sbidlikens; fash¬ 
ionable upstarts shrank from the portraits of the Giblets; 
the small-beer of the politician soured at the thundering 
satire of Dabble; the feathers of the carpet soldiers 
wilted when they were paraded in the regiment of the 
Fag-rags. Salmagundi was the mild terror of the town 
when society was not too overgrown an instrument to be 
played upon by a cunning musician. 

New York was a queer place then, as our own New 
York may be, doubtless, to our descendants fifty years 
hence, if they have a pair of Salmagundi spectacles to 
see it with. There were all sorts of humors afloat, small 
and great, from fashionable nothings, with their idle 
brains, to the heads of great projectors teeming with 
national wonders. We see something of all in the book. 
There is that North Kiver Society which figures on so 
many pages. Were the wits conscious how much of the 
future these humorous projectors, the Stevenses, the Liv¬ 
ingstons, and Fultons, held in as yet uncrystallized solu¬ 
tion in their vagaries ? Mr. Ichabod Fungus laughs at 
that “ aquatic mole or water rat,” the “ Torpedo,” with 


16 


BDITOR’8 PREFACE. 


which the great inventor entertained the town at the 
Battery, but we hear nothing of his waggery when the 
Clermont ascends the Hudson. It was the heyday, too, 
of the Jeffersonian era, and the reader may get a very 
good idea of the feelings entertained towards the sage of 
Monticello in respect to his “ economical ” administration 
of embargoes and gun-boats. 

How distant it all seems—far removed as the days of 
the “ Spectator ” itself, the parent of this fluttering prog¬ 
eny of humors and anticipations of the gentle essayists. 
There is nothing of New York of the present time in 
its pages—of our bustling, driving, busy era. The town 
seems then to have had an hour or two for a little tea- 
table chat. The demon of ceaseless work had not then 
taken such full possession of the world. There was 
something to laugh over, and sorrow had leisure for a 
tear. There were actors then; people went to the theatre, 
and talked over the performance when they came away. 
Where is the great George Frederick now, and the gentle 
accents of Cooper? The poor wizened Frenchmen, exiles 
of Europe and Saint Domingo, whose quaint habits so 
perplexed My Aunt Charity, where are they? Vanished 
from earth, but not before their fadeless images were 
stamped within the leaves of this book. 

Well, all have gone, writers and actors. The garments 
of the beaux would startle us like ghosts if we were to 
look into the old wardrobes; the beauty of the belles has 
withered into ashes; good and evil undreamt of have 


EDITOR'S PREFACE. 


17 


come out of the inventors and politicians; a new genera¬ 
tion swarms with a new set of follies, and we write the 
eulogies and epitaphs of the departed humorists. So 
runs the world away, will be the reflection of the reader 
as he lays down these sprightly pages, redolent of youth 
and vivacity, of the spring-time of life, when satire itself 
has no bitterness, though it may affect scornful words 
and frowning emphasis, when hope spreads its gayest 
hues of promise, and melancholy itself has its tinct of 
eloquence and pleasure. 


The text of this edition is that of the original work as 
it was first published by Longworth. In the subsequent 
reprints, several papers of interest were dropped, which 
are now restored. A few verbal corrections have been 
made, following the Paris edition of Irving’s works of 
1834 , which had more or less of the author’s supervision. 
The notes to that copy, so far as they extended, have been 
retained, and will be found to be appropriately credited. 

The interesting sketch of the Summer-house of Cock¬ 
loft Hall, which appears as the frontispiece, is a contri¬ 
bution to the volume from Mr. W. A. Whitehead, of 
Newark. 

New Yoek, April 7, 186ft. 

% 





Contents, 




f 

k 

( 


NO. PAO* 

I.—SATURDAY, JANUARY 24, 1807. 27 

Publisher’s Notice. Shakespeare Gallery, New York_ 30 

From the Elbow-chair of Launcelot Langstaff, Esq. 31 

Theatrics—Containing the Quintessence of Modern Criti¬ 
cism. By William Wizard, Esq. 40 

New York Assembly. By Anthony Evergreen, Gent. 43 

II.— WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 4, 1807. From the Elbow- 

chair OF Launcelot Langstaff, Esq. 50 

Mr. Wilson’s Concert. By Anthony Evergreen, Gent. 57 

Cockloft Family. 61 

To Launcelot Langstaff, Esq. 65 

Advertisement. 68 


III.— FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 13, 1807.— From my Elbow-chair. .. 71 
Letter from Mustapha Rub-a-Dub Keu Khan, Captain of 
A Ketch, to Asem Hacchem, Principal Slave-driver to 


His Highness the Bashaw of Tripoli. 74 

Fashions. By Anthony Evergreen, Gent. 80 

Incog. 84 

Proclamation, from the Mill of Pindar Cockloft, Esq. 87 

Dr. Christopher Costive. 91 


19 

















20 


CONTENTS. 


HO. PAG* 

IV.—TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 24,1807. From mt Elbow-chair. 95 
Memorai^dums fora Tour to be entitled “The Stranger 
IN New Jersey; or, Cockney Travelling.” By Jeremy 

Cockloft, the Younger. 99 

From my Elbow-chair. 107 

Flummery. From the Mill of Pindar Cockloft, Esq. ; 
being a Poem with Notes, or rather Notes with a 
Poem ; in the Manner of Dr. Christopher Costive. . 110 

V. — SATURDAY, MARCH 7, 1807. From my Elbow-chair. . 121 
Letter from Mustapha Rub-a-Dub Keli Khan, to Ab¬ 
dallah Eb’n Al Rahab, Surnamed the Snorer, Mili¬ 
tary Sentinel at the Gate of His Highness’ Palace. . 121 

By Anthony Evergreen, Gent. 134 

To THE Ladies. From the Mill of Pindar Cockloft, 

Esq. 141 

VL—FRIDAY, MARCH 20, 1807. From my Elbow-chair_ 145 

Theatrics. By William Wizard, Esq. 159 

VII. — SATURDAY, APRIL 4, 1807. Letter from Mustapha 
Rub-A-Dub Keli Khan, to Asem Hacchem, Principal 
Slave-driver to His Highness, the Bashaw of Trip¬ 
oli. 169 

Prom the Mill of Pindar Cockloft, Esq. Notes by 
William Wizard, Esq. 180 

C 

YIII. — SATURDAY, APRIL 18, 1807. By Anthony Evergreen, 

Gent. 187 

On Style. By William Wizard, Esq. 197 

To Correspondents. 205 












CONTENTS. ' 


21 


FO. PAGE 


IX. —SATURDAY, APRIL 25, 1807. From my Elbow-chair.. 210 

Letter from Mustapha Rub-a-Dub Keli Khan, Captain 
OF A Ketch, to Asem Hacchem, Principal Slave-driver 

TO His Highness the Bashaw of Tripoli. 220 

From the Mill of Pindar Cockloft, Esq. 230 

X. —SATURDAY, MAY 16, 1807. From my Elbow-chair. 237 

To Launcelot Langstaff, Esq. 239 

The Stranger in Pennsylvania. By Jeremy Cockloft, the 
Younger.246 


XI. — TUESDAY, JUNE 2, 1807. Letter from Mustapha Rub- 
a-Dub Keli Khan, Captain of a Ketch, to Asem Hac¬ 
chem, Principal Slave-driver to His Highness the 


Bashaw of Tripoli. 257 

From my Elbow-chair. Mine Uncle John. 269 


XII.—SATURDAY, JUNE 27, 1807. From my Elbow-chair. ... 279 
The Stranger at Home ; or, a Tour in Broadway. By 

Jeremy Cockloft, the Younger. 290 

From my Elbow-chair. 300 

From the Mill of Pindar Cockloft, Esq. 301 


XIII.—FRIDAY, AUGUST, 14, 1807. From my Elbow-chair. ... 306 
Plans for defending our Harbor. By William Wizard, 

Esq. 310 

From my Elbow-chair. A Retrospect; or, “What You 

Will”.320 

To Readers and Correspondents.333 















22 


CONTENTS. 


XIV.—SATURDAY, SEPT. 16, 1807. Letter from Mustapha 
Rub-A-Dub Keli Khan, to Asem Hacchem, Principal 
Slave-driver to His Highness the Bashaw of Tripoli. 336 

Cockloft Hall. By Launcelot Langstaff, Esq. 348 

Theatrical Intelligence. By William Wizard, Esq. ... 361 

XV.—THURSDAY, OCTOBER 1,1807. Sketches from Nature. 

By Anthony Evergreen, Gent.367 

On Greatness. By Launcelot Langstaff, Esq. 376 

XVI.—THURSDAY, OCTOBER 15, 1807. Style at Ballston. 

By William Wizard, Esq. 387 

Letter from Mustapha Rub-a-Dub Keli Khan, to Asem 
Hacchem, Principal Slave-driver to His Highness 
the Bashaw of Tripoli. 395 

XVII. — WEDNESDAY, NOV. 11, 1807. Autumnal Reflections. 

By Launcelot Langstaff, Esq. 407 

By Launcelot Langstaff, Esq.413 

Chap, CIX.—Of the Chronicles of the Renowned and 
Antient City of Gotham. 419 

XVIII. — TUESDAY, NOV. 24, 1807. The Little Man in Black. 

By Launcelot Langstaff, Esq.429 

Letter from Mustapha Rub-a-Dub Keli Khan, to Asem 
Hacchem, Principal Slave-driver to His Highness 
THE Bashaw of Tripoli. 440 

XIX.—THURSDAY, DEC. 31, 1807. From my Elbow-chair. .. 449 


Letter from Mustapha Rub-a-Dub Keli Khan, to Mu- 
ley Helim Al Raggi, Surnamed The Agreeable Rag¬ 
amuffin, Chief Mountebank and Buffa-dancer to 
His Highness. 450 













CONTENTS. 


23 


VO. PAQE 

By Anthony Evergreen, Gent. 463 

Tea : A Poem. 471 

XX.—MONDAY, JANUARY 25, 1808. Prom my Elbow-chair_ 476 

To the Ladies. By Anthony Evergreen, Gent. 487 

Farewell. 405 








I 


\ 

1 

i 

\ 

j 


Salmagundi. 



NO. L—SATUKDAT, JANUARY 24, 1807. 

S everybody knows, or ought to know, what 
a S a l ma gund is, we shall spare ourselves the 
trouble of an explanation ; besides, we despise 
trouble as we do everything low and mean, and hold the 
man who would incur it unnecessarily as an object worthy 
our highest pity and contempt. Neither will we puzzle 
our heads to give an account of ourselves, for two rea¬ 
sons ; first, because it is nobody’s business; secondly, 
because if it were, we do not hold ourselves bound to 
attend to anybody’s business but our own; and even that 
we take the liberty of neglecting when it suits our incli¬ 
nation. To these we might add a third, that very few 
men can give a tolerable account of themselves, let them 
try ever so hard; but this reason, we candidly avow, 
would not hold good with ourselves. 

There are, however, two or three pieces of information 
which we bestow gratis on the public, chiefly because it 

27 





28 


8ALMA0UNDI, 


suits our own pleasure and convenience that they should 
be known, and partly because we do not wish that there 
should be any ill will between us at the commencement 
of our acquaintance. 

Our intention is simply to instruct the young, reform 
the old, correct the town, and castigate the age; this is 
an arduous task, and therefore we undertake it with con¬ 
fidence. We intend for this purpose to present a strik¬ 
ing picture of the town; and as everybody is anxious to 
see his own phiz on canvas, however stupid or ugly it 
may be, we have no doubt but the whole town will flock 
to our exhibition. Our picture will necessarily include a 
vast variety of figures ; and should any gentleman or lady 
be displeased with the inveterate truth of their like¬ 
nesses, they may ease their spleen by laughing at those 
of their neighbors—this being what we understand by 
poetical justice. 

Like all true and able editors, we consider ourselves 
infallible ; and therefore, with the customary diffidence 
of our brethren of the quill, we shall take the liberty of 
interfering in all matters either of a public or a private 
nature. We are critics, amateurs, dilettanti, and cognos¬ 
centi ; and as we know “ by the pricking of our thumbs,” 
that every opinion which we may advance in either of 
those characters will be correct, we are determined, 
though it may be questioned, contradicted, or even con¬ 
troverted, yet it shall never be revoked. 

We beg the public particularly to understand that we 


TO OUR FRIENDS. 


29 


solicit no patronage. We are determined, on the con¬ 
trary, that the patronage shall be entirely on our side. 
We have nothing to do with the pecuniary concerns of 
the paper; its success will yield us neither pride nor 
profit—nor will its failure occasion to us either loss or 
mortification. We advise the public, therefore, to pur¬ 
chase our numbers merely for their own sakes; if they 
do not, let them settle the affair with their consciences 
and posterity. 

To conclude, we invite all editors of newspapers and 
literary journals to praise us heartily in advance, as we 
assure them that we intend to deserve their praises. To 
our next-door neighbor, “Town,”* we hold out a hand of 
amity, declaring to him that, after ours, his paper will 
stand the best chance for immortality. We proffer an 
exchange of civilities: he shall furnish us with notices 
of epic poems and tobacco; and we in return will enrich 
him with original speculations on all manner of subjects, 
together with “ the rummaging of my grandfather’s ma¬ 
hogany chest of drawers,” “ the life and amours of mine 
Uncle John,” “ anecdotes of the Cockloft family,” and 
learned quotations from that unheard of writer of folios, 
Linkiim Fidelius, 

* The title of a newspaper published in New York, the columns of 
which, among other miscellaneous topics, occasionally contained stric¬ 
tures on the performances at the theatres.—JVim Ed, 


30 


SALMAGUNDI, 


PUBLISHER’S NOTICE. 


SHAKESPEARE HALLERY, NEW YORK.* 


HIS work will be published and sold by D. Long- 



worth. It will be printed on hot-pressed vellum 
paper, as that is held in highest estimation for buckling 
up young ladies’ hair—a purpose to which similar works 
are usually appropriated; it will be a small, neat, duo¬ 
decimo size, so that, when enough numbers are written, 
it may form a volume sufficiently portable to be carried 
in old ladies’ pockets and young ladies’ work-bags. 

As the above work will not come out at stated periods, 
notice will be given when another number will be pub¬ 
lished. The price will depend on the size of the number, 
and must be paid on delivery. The publisher professes 
the same sublime contempt for money as his authors. 
The liberal patronage bestowed by his discerning fellow- 
citizens on various works of taste which he has pub¬ 
lished, has left him no inclination to ask for further 

* David Longworth, an eccentric bookseller, had filled a large apartment 
with the valuable engravings of “ Boydell’s Shakespeare Gallery,” mag¬ 
nificently framed, and had nearly obscured the front of his house with a 
huge sign—a colossal painting in chiaroscuro, of the crowning of Shake¬ 
speare. Longwoi-th had an extraordinary propensity to publish elegant 
works, to the great gratification of persons of taste, and the no small dim¬ 
inution of his own slender fortune. He alludes ironically to this cir¬ 
cumstance in the present notice .—Paris Ed. Longworth’s store was in 
Park Row, near the Park Theatre. He was the dramatic publisher of 
New York in his day, and long issued the City Directory. 


ADVICE TO TEE PUBLIC, 


31 


favors at their hands, and he publishes this work in the 
mere hope of requiting their bounty.* 


FKOM THE ELBOW-CHAIR OF LAUNCELOT LANGSTAFF, ESQ. 


TTTE were a considerable time in deciding whether we 
^ ^ should be at the pains of introducing ourselves to 
the public. As we care for nobody, and as we are not 
yet at the bar, we do not feel bound to hold up our 
hands and answer to our names. 

Willing, however, to gain at once that frank, confiden¬ 
tial footing, which we are certain of ultimately possessing 
in this, doubtless, “best of all possible cities;” and anx¬ 
ious to spare its worthy inhabitants the trouble of mak¬ 
ing a thousand loise conjectures, not one of which would 
be worth a tobacco-stopper, we have thought it in some 
degree a necessary exertion of charitable condescension 
to furnish them with a slight clew to the truth. 

Before we proceed further, however, we advise every¬ 
body, man, woman, and child, that can read, or get any 
friend to read for them, to purchase this paper—not that 
we write for money, for, in common with all philosoph¬ 
ical wiseacres, from Solomon downward, we hold it in 

* It was not originally the intention of the authors to insert the above 
address in the work; but, unwilling that a morceau so precious should be 
lost to posterity, they have been induced to alter their minds. This will 
account for any repetition of idea that may appear in the introductory 
essay .—Note to original Ed. 



32 


SALMAGUNDI. 


supreme contempt. The public are welcome to buy this 
work or not, just as they choose. If it be purchased 
freely, so much the better for the public—and the pub¬ 
lisher ; we gain not a stiver. If it be not purchased, we 
give fair warning—we shall burn all our essays, critiques, 
and epigrams, in one promiscuous blaze; and, like the 
books of the sibyls and the Alexandrian Library, they 
will be lost forever to posterity. For the sake, therefore, 
of our publisher, for the sake of the public, and for the 
sake of the public’s children to the nineteenth genera¬ 
tion, we advise them to purchase our paper. We beg 
the respectable old matrons of this city not to be 
alarmed at the appearance we make; we are none of 
those outlandish geniuses who swarm in New York, who 
live by their wits, or rather by the little wit of their 
neighbors, and who spoil the genuine honest American 
tastes of their daughters with French slops and fricas¬ 
seed sentiment. 

We have said we do not write for money—neither do 
we write for fame ; we know too well the variable nature 
of public opinion to build our hopes upon it—we care 
not what the public think of us, and we suspect, before 
we reach the tenth number, they will not Icnow what to 
think of us. In two words, we write for no other earthly 
purpose but to please ourselves; and this we shall be 
sure of doing, for we are all three of us determined be¬ 
forehand to be pleased with what we write. If, in the 
course of this work, we edify and instruct and amuse 


OUR INTENTIONS. 


33 


the public, so much the better for the public; but we 
frankly acknowledge that so soon as we get tired of read¬ 
ing our own works, we shall discontinue them without 
the least remorse, whatever the public may think of it. 
While we continue to go on, we will go on merrily: if we 
moralize, it shall be but seldom ; and, on all occasions, 
we shall be more solicitous to make our readers laugh 
than cry; for we are laughing philosophers, and clearly 
of opinion that wisdom, true wisdom, is a plump, jolly 
dame, who sits in her arm-chair, laughs right merrily at 
the farce of life—and takes the world as it goes. 

We intend particularly to notice the conduct of the 
fashionable world; nor in this shall we be governed by 
that carping spirit with which narrow-minded book-worm 
cynics squint at the little extravagances of the ton; but 
with that liberal toleration which actuates every man of 
fashion. While we keep more than a Cerberus watch 
over the guardian rules of female delicacy and decorum, 
we shall not discourage any little sprightliness of de¬ 
meanor, or innocent vivacity of character. Before we 
advance one line further, we must let it be understood, 
as our firm opinion, void of all prejudice or partiality, 
that the ladies of New York are the fairest, the finest, 
the most accomplished, the most bewitching, the most 
ineffable beings that walk, creep, crawl, swim, fiy, float, 
or vegetate in any or all of the four elements ; and that 
they only want to be cured of certain whims, eccentrici¬ 
ties, and unseemly conceits, by our superintending cares, 
a 


34 


SALMAGUNDL 


to render them absolutely perfect. They will, therefore^ 
receive a large portion of those attentions directed to 
the fashionable world; nor will the gentlemen who doze 
away their time in the circles of the hauUton escape 
our currying. We mean those stupid fellows who sit 
stock-still upon their chairs, without saying a word, 

and then complain, “ How stupid it was at Mrs.-’s 

party.” 

This department will be under the peculiar direction 
and control of Anthony Evergreen, gent., to whom all 
communications on this subject are to be addressed. 
This gentleman, from his long experience in the routine 
of balls, tea-parties, and assemblies, is eminently quali¬ 
fied for the task he has undertaken. He is a kind 't 
patriarch in the fashionable world, and has seen genera¬ 
tion after generation pass away into the silent tomb 
of matrimony while he remains unchangeably the same. 
He can recount the amours and courtships of the fathers, 
mothers, uncles, and aunts, and even the grandames, of 
all the belles of the present day—provided their pedi¬ 
grees extend so far back without being lost in obscurity. 
As, however, treating of pedigrees is rather an ungrateful 
task in this city, and as we mean to be perfectly good- 
natured, he has promised to be cautious in this particu¬ 
lar. He recollects perfectly the time when young ladies 
used to go sleigh-riding at night, without their mammas 
or grandmammas; in short, without being matronized at 
all: and can relate a thousand pleasant stories about 


EISSING-BRIDOE. 


35 


Kissing-bridge.* He likewise remembers the time when 
ladies paid tea-visits, at three in the afternoon, and re¬ 
turned before dark to see that the house was shut up 
and the servants on duty. He has often played cricket 
in the orchard in the rear of old Yauxhall, and remem¬ 
bers when the Bull’s Headt was quite out of town. 

* Amongst the amusements of the citizens in times gone by was that 
of making excursions in the winter evenings, on sleighs, to some neigh¬ 
boring village, where the social party had a ball and supper. Kissing- 
bridge had its name from the circumstance that here the beaux exacted 
from their fair companions the forfeiture of a kiss before permitting 
their travelling vehicles to pass over .—Paris Ed. 

The Rev. Andrew Burnaby, Vicar of Greenwich, in his “Travels 
through the Middle Settlements in North America, in the years 1759 and 
1760,” has this mention of the spot, fixing the locality near Fiftieth street, 
near the site of old Cato’s. “The amusements of the New-Yorkers,” 
says Burnaby, “ are balls and sleighing expeditions in the winter ; in the 
summer, going in parties upon the water and fishing, or making excur¬ 
sions into the country. There are several houses pleasantly suited upon 
East River, near New York, where it is common to have turtle feasts: these 
happen once or twice in a week. Thirty or forty gentlemen and ladies meet 
and dine together, drink tea in the afternoon, fish and amuse themselves 
till evening, and then return home in Italian chaises, a gentleman and 
lady in each chaise. In the way there is a bridge, about three miles dis¬ 
tant from New York, which you always pass over as you return, called the 
Kissing-bridge, where it is a part of the etiquette to salute the lady who 
has put herself under your protection.” From this it would appear that 
the privileges of Kissing-bridge were not confined to sleighing parties. 

f Old Vauxhall stood at the comer of Warren and Greenwich streets, 
and was originally the residence of Sir Peter Warren. It fell into the 
hands of Sam Fraunces, the famous tavern-keeper, who kept it as a pub¬ 
lic garden. Fraunces was the steward of General Washington. A later 
Vauxhall was kept in the neighborhood of Broome street by Delacroix, 
who removed the establishment about 1808 to the better known Vauxhall 
Garden, which extended from the Bowery to Broadway, crossing the 
present Lafayette Place and site of the Astor Library. The Bull’s Head, 


36 


SALMAGUNDI. 


Though he has slowly and gradually given in to modem 
fashions, and still flourishes in the heau-mondey yet he 
seems a little prejudiced in favor of the dress and man¬ 
ners of the old school, and his chief commendation of a 
new mode is, “ that it is the same good old fashion we 
had before the war.” It has cost us much trouble to 
make him confess that a cotillon is superior to a minuet, 
or an unadorned crop to a pig-tail and powder. Custom 
and fashion have, however, had more effect on him than 
all our lectures ; and he tempers, so happily, the grave 
and ceremonious gallantry of the old school with the 
“ hail-fellow ” familiarity of the new, that we trust, on a 
little acquaintance, and making allowance for his old- 
fashioned prejudices, he will become a very considerable 
favorite with our readers—if not, the worse for them¬ 
selves, as they will have to endure his company. 

In the territory of criticism, William Wizard, Esq., has 
undertaken to preside ; and though we may all dabble in 
it a little by turns, yet we have willingly ceded to him 
all discretionary powers in this respect. Though Will 
has not had the advantage of an education at Oxford 
or Cambridge, or even at Edinburgh or Aberdeen, and 
though he is but little versed in Hebrew, yet we have no 
douot he will be found fully competent to the undertak¬ 
ing. He has improved his taste by a long residence 

the chief cattle mart, occupied the site of the Bowery Theatre, and has 
travelled upward with the growth of the city, making one or two halting- 
places on that avenue on its way to its present position in the Fifth Avenue, 


ACCOMPLISHMENTS OF WILL WIZARD. 


37 


abroad, particularly at Canton, Calcutta, and the gay and 
polished court of Hayti. He has also had an opportunity 
of seeing the best singing-girls and tragedians of China, 
is a great connoisseur in mandarin dresses, and porcelain, 
and particularly values himself on his intimate knowl¬ 
edge of the buffalo, and war-dances of the northern In¬ 
dians. He is likewise promised the assistance of a gen¬ 
tleman, lately from London, who was born and bred in 
that centre of science and hem gout, the vicinity of Fleet 
Market, where he has been edified, man and boy, these 
six-and-twenty years, with the harmonious jingle of Bow- 
bells. His taste, therefore, has attained to such an ex¬ 
quisite pitch of refinement that there are few exhibitions 
of any kind which do not put him in a fever. He has 
assured Will, that if Mr. Cooper emphasizes “and” in¬ 
stead of ^^hut” or Mrs. Oldmixon pins her kerchief a 
hair’s breadth awry, or Mrs. Barley offers to dare to look 
less than the “daughter of a senator of Venice,”—the 
standard of a senator’s daughter being exactly six feet,— 
they shall all hear of it in good time. We have, however, 
advised Will Wizard to keep his friend in check, lest, by 
opening the eyes of the public to the wretchedness of the 
actors by whom they have hitherto been entertained, he 
might cut off one source of amusement from our fellow- 
citizens. We hereby give notice, that we have taken the 
whole corps, from the manager in his mantle of gorgeous 
copper-lace to honest John in his green coat and black 
breeches, under our wing—and woe be unto him who 


38 


8ALMA0UNDL 


injures a hair of their heads. As we have no design 
against the patience of our fellow-citizens, we shall not 
dose them with copious draughts of theatrical criticism; 
we well know that they have already been well physicked 
with them of late; our theatrics shall take up but a 
small part of our paper; nor shall they be altogether 
confined to the stage, but extend from time to time to 
those incorrigible offenders against the peace of society, 
the stage-critics, who not unfrequently create the fault 
they find, in order to yield an opening for their witti¬ 
cisms—censure an actor for a gesture he never made, 
or an emphasis he never gave; and, in their attempt to 
show off new readings, make the sweet swan of Avon 
cackle like a goose. If any one should feel himself 
offended by our remarks, let him attack us in return—we 
shall not wince from the combat. If his passes be suc¬ 
cessful, we will be the first to cry out, a hit! a hit! and 
we doubt not we shall frequently lay ourselves open to 
the weapons of our assailants. But let them have a care 
how they run a tilting with us; they have to deal with 
stubborn foes, who can bear a world of pummelling; we 
will be relentless in our vengeance, and will fight “ till 
from our bones the flesh be hack’t.” 

What other subjects we shall include in the range of 
our observations, we have not determined, or rather we 
shall not trouble ourselves to detail. The public have 
already more information concerning us than we intended 
to impart. We owe them no favors, neither do we ask 


OURSELVES. 


39 


any. We again advise them, for their own sakes, to read 
our papers when they come out. We recommend to all 
mothers to purchase them for their daughters, who will 
be taught the true line of propriety, and the most advis¬ 
able method of managing their beaux. We advise all 
daughters to purchase them for the sake of their moth¬ 
ers, who shall be initiated into the arcana of the bon-ton, 
and cured of all those rusty old notions which they ac¬ 
quired during the last century: parents shall be taught 
how to govern their children, girls how to get husbands, 
and old maids how to do without them. 

As we do not measure our wits by the yard or the 
bushel, and as they do not flow periodically nor con¬ 
stantly, we shall not restrict our paper as to size or the 
time of its appearance. It will be published whenever 
we have sufficient matter to constitute a number, and the 
size of the number shall depend on the stock in hand. 
This will best suit our negligent habits, and leave us that 
full liberty and independence which is the joy and pride 
of our souls. As we have before hinted, that we do not 
concern ourselves about the pecuniary matters of our 
paper, we leave its price to be regulated by our pub¬ 
lisher : only recommending him, for his own interest, and 
the honor of its authors, not to sell their invaluable pro¬ 
ductions too cheap. 

Is there any one who wishes to know more about us ? 
—let him read Salmagundi, and grow wise apace. Thus 
much we will say—there are three of us, “ Bardolph, 


40 


8ALMA0UNDL 


Peto, and I,” all townsmen good and true; many a time 
and oft have we three amused the town without its 
knowing to whom it was indebted; and many a time have 
we seen the midnight lamp twinkle faintly on our stu¬ 
dious phizes, and heard the morning salutation of “ past 
three o’clock,” before we sought our pillows. The result 
of these midnight studies is now offered to the public; 
and little as we care for the opinion of this exceedingly 
stupid world, we shall take care, as far as lies in our 
careless natures, to fulfill the promises made in this in¬ 
troduction ; if we do not, we shall have so many exam¬ 
ples to justify us, that we feel little solicitude on that 
account. 


THEATRICS—CONTAINING THE QUINTESSENCE OF MODERN 
CRITICISM. 

BY WILLIAM WIZARD, ESQ. 

"jy/pACBETH was performed to a very crowded house, 
and much to our satisfaction. As, however, our 
neighbor “Town” has been very voluminous already in 
his criticisms on this play, we shall make but few re¬ 
marks. Having never seen Kemble in this character, we 
are absolutely at a loss to say whether Mr. Cooper per¬ 
formed it well or not. We think, however, there was an 
error in his costume, as the learned Linkum Fidelius is 
of opinion that in the time of Macbeth the Scots did not 



THEATRICALS. 


41 


wear sandals, but wooden shoes. Macbeth also was 
noted for wearing his jacket open, that he might play the 
Scotch fiddle more conveniently—that being a hereditary 
accomplishment in the Glamis family. 

We have seen this character performed in China, by 
the celebrated Chow-ChoiVy the Roscius of that great 
empire, who in the dagger scene always electrified the 
audience by blowing his nose like a trumpet. Chow- 
Chow, in compliance with the opinion of the sage 
Linkum Fidelius, performed Macbeth in wooden shoes; 
this gave him an opportunity of producing great effect, 
for on first seeing the “ air-drawn dagger,” he always cut 
a prodigious high caper, and kicked his shoes into the 
pit at the heads of the critics ; whereupon the audience 
were marvelously delighted, flourished their hands, and 
stroked their whiskers three times, and the matter was 
carefully recorded in the next number of a paper called 
the Flim-Flam {English^ “ Town ”). 

We were much pleased with Mrs. Villiers in Lady 
Macbeth; but we think she would have given a greater 
effect to the night scene, if, instead of holding the candle 
in her hand, or setting it down on the table, which is 
sagaciously censured by neighbor “Town,” she had stuck 
it in her night-cap. This would have been extremely 
picturesque, and would have marked more strongly the 
derangement of her mind. 

Mrs. Villiers is not by any means large enough for the 
character: Lady Macbeth having been, in our opinion, a 


42 


8ALMA0UNDL 


woman of extraordinary size, and of the race of the 
giants, notwithstanding what she says of her “little 
hand ”—which being said in her sleep passes for noth¬ 
ing. We should be happy to see this character in the 
hands of the lady who played Glumdalca^ queen of the 
giants, in Tom Thumb; she is exactly of imperial dimen¬ 
sions ; and, provided she is well shaved, of a most inter¬ 
esting physiognomy: as she appears likewise to be a 
lady of some nerve, I dare engage she will read a letter 
about witches vanishing in air, and such common occur¬ 
rences, without being unnaturally surprised, to the annoy¬ 
ance of honest “ Town.” 

We are happy to observe that Mr. Cooper profits by 
the instructions of friend “ Town,” and does not dip the 
daggers in blood so deep as formerly by a matter of an 
inch or two. This was a violent outrage upon our im¬ 
mortal bard. We differ with Mr. “ Town ” in his reading 
of the words “ this is a sorry sight” We are of opinion 
the force of the sentence should be thrown on the word 
sight, because Macbeth having been, shortly before, most 
confoundedly humbugged with an aerial dagger, was in 
doubt whether the daggers actually in his hands were 
real, or whether they were not mere shadows, or as the 
old English may have termed it, syghtes (this, at any rate, 
will establish our skill in new readings). Though we 
differ in this respect from our neighbor “Town,” yet 
we heartily agree with him in censuring Mr. Cooper for 
omitting that passage so remarkable for “ beauty of im- 


THE ASSEMBLY. 


43 


agery,’* etc., beginning with “ and pity like a naked new¬ 
born babe,” etc. It is one of those passages of Shake¬ 
speare which should always be retained, for the purpose 
of showing how sometimes that great poet could talk 
like a buzzard; or, to speak more plainly, like the famous 
mad poet, Nat Lee. 

As it is the first duty of a friend to advise, and as we pro¬ 
fess and do actually feel a friendship for honest “Town,” 
we warn him never, in his criticisms, to meddle with a 
lady’s “petticoats,” or to quote Nic Bottom. In the first 
instance he may “catch a tartar;” and in the second, the 
ass’s head may rise up in judgment against him; and 
when it is once afloat there is no knowing where some 
unlucky hand may place it. We would not, for all the 
money in our pockets, see “ Town ” flourishing his crit¬ 
ical quill under the auspices of an ass’s head, like the 
great Franklin in his Montero Gap. 


NEW YORK ASSEMBLY. 

BY ANTHONY EVERGREEN, GENT. 

^ I ^HE assemblies this year have gained a great acces- 
sion of beauty. Several brilliant stars have risen 
from the East and from the North, to brighten the firma¬ 
ment of fashion; among the number I have discovered 
another planet, which rivals even Venus in lustre, and I 



44 


SALMAGUNDI. 


claim equal honor with Herschel for my discovery. 1 
shall take some future opportunity to describe this planet, 
and the numerous satellites which revolve around it. 

At the last assembly the company began to make some 
show about eight, but the most fashionable delayed their 
appearance until nine—nine being the number of the 
muses, and therefore the best possible hour for begin¬ 
ning to exhibit the graces. (This is meant for a pretty 
play upon words, and I assure my readers that I think it 
very tolerable.) 

Poor Will Honeycomb, whose memory I hold in spe¬ 
cial consideration, even with his half century of expe¬ 
rience, would have been puzzled to point out the humors 
of a lady by her prevailing colors; for the “rival queens” 
of fashion, Mrs. Toole and Madame Bouchard,* appeared 
to have exhausted their wonderful inventions in the dif¬ 
ferent disposition, variation, and combination of tints 
and shades. The philosopher who maintained that black 
was white, and that, of course, there was no such color as 
white, might have given some color to his theory on this 
occasion, by the absence of poor forsaken white muslin. 
I was, however, much pleased to see that red maintained 
its ground against all other colors, because red is the 
color of Mr. Jefferson’s*******, Tom Paine’s nose, 
and my slippers, t 

* Two fashionable milliners of rival celebrity in the city of New York.— 
Pa/ris Ed. 

f In this instance, as well as on several other occasions, a little inno- 


THE ASSEMBLY. 


45 


Let the grumbling smellfungi of this world, who culti¬ 
vate taste among books, cobwebs, and spiders, rail at the 
extravagance of the age; for my part, I was delighted 
with the magic of the scene, and as the ladies tripped 
through the mazes of the dance, sparkling and glowing 
and dazzling, I, like the honest Chinese, thanked them 
heartily for the jewels and finery with which they loaded 
themselves, merely for the entertainment of bystanders, 
and blessed my stars that I was a bachelor. 

The gentlemen were considerably numerous, and being, 
as usual, equipt in their appropriate black uniforms, con¬ 
stituted a sable regiment, which contributed not a little 
to the brilliant gayety of the ball-room. I must confess 
I am indebted for this remark to our friend the cockney, 

cent pleasantry is indulged at Mr. Jefferson’s expense. The allusion 
made here is to the red velvet small clothes with which the President, in 
defiance of good taste, used to attire himself on levee days and other pub¬ 
lic occasions .—Paris Ed. 

In one of his splenetic moods in Virginia, John Randolph once vented 
his complaint of Jefferson, with an allusion to the old scandal. “ I can¬ 
not live,” said he, “in this miserable undone country, where, as the Turks 
follow their sacred standard, which is a pair of Mahomet’s green breeches, 
we are governed by the old red breeches of that prince of projectors, St. 
Thomas of Cantingbury ; and surely, Becket himself never had more pil¬ 
grims at his shrine, than the saint of Monticello.” 

As for the proboscis of Paine, “I shall secure him to a nicety,” said 
Jarvis, when he was about to take the bust of Paine, now in the New 
York Historical Society, “if I can get plaster enough for his carbuncled 
nose.” Dr. Fi*ancis, who relates the anecdote in one of the interesting 
historical sketches which he has given to the public, also fnmishes a 
couplet sung by the boys in the street:— 

“ Tom Paine is come from far, from far ; 

His nose Is like a blazing star 1 ” 


46 


SALMAGUNDI. 


Mr. ’Sbidlikensflash, or ^ ShidlihenSj as lie is called for 
shortness. He is a fellow of infinite verbosity—stands 
in high favor—with himself—and, like Caleb Quotem, is 
“up to everything.” I remember when a comfortable, 
plump-looking citizen led into the room a fair damsel, 
who looked for all the world like the personification of a 
rainbow; ’Sbidlikens observed that it reminded him of a 
fable, which he had read somewhere, of the marriage of 
an honest, painstaking snail, who had once walked six 
feet in an hour for a wager, to a butterfly whom he used 
to gallant by the elbow, with the aid of much puffing and 
exertion. On being called upon to tell where he had 
come across the story, ’Sbidlikens absolutely refused to 
answer. 

It would but be repeating an old story to say that the 
ladies of New York dance well—and well may they, since 
they learn it scientifically, and begin their lessons before 
they have quit their swaddling clothes. The immortal 
Duport has usurped despotic sway over all the female 
heads and heels in this city; horn-books, primers, and 
pianos are neglected to attend to his positions; and poor 
Chilton, with his pots and kettles and chemical crockery, 
finds him a more potent enemy than the whole collective 
force of the “North Eiver Society.”* ’Sbidlikens insists 

* An imaginary association, the object of which was to set the North 
River (the Hudson) on fire. A number of young men of some fashion, 
little talent, and great pretension, were ridiculed as members .—Paris 
Ed. 


DANCING FRENCHMEN 


47 


that this dancing mania will inevitably continue as long 
as a dancing-master will charge the fashionable price of 
five-and-twenty dollars a quarter, and all other accom¬ 
plishments are so vulgar as to be attainable at “ half the 
money;” but I put no faith in ’Sbidlikens’ candor in this 
particular. Among his infinitude of endowments, he is 
but a poor proficient in dancing; and though he often 
fiounders through a cotillon, yet he never cut a pigeon¬ 
wing in his life. 

In my mind there’s no position more positive and un¬ 
exceptionable than that most Frenchmen, dead or alive, 
are born dancers. I came pounce upon this discovery at 
the assembly, and I immediately noted it down in my 
register of indisputable facts; the public shall know all 
about it. As I never dance cotillons, holding them to ht 
monstrous distorters of the human frame, and tantamount 
in their operations to being broken and dislocated on the 
wheel, I generally take occasion, while they are going on, 
to make my remarks on the company. In the course of 
these observations I was struck with the energy and elo¬ 
quence of sundry limbs, which seemed to be flourishing 
about without appertaining to anybody. After much in¬ 
vestigation and difficulty, I at length traced them to their 
respective owners, whom I found to be all Frenchmen to 
a man. Art may have meddled somewhat in these affairs, 
but nature certainly did more. I have since been con¬ 
siderably employed in calculations on this subject; and 
by the most accurate computation I have determined 


48 


SALMAGUNDI. 


2liat a Frencliman passes at least three-fifths of his time 
between the heavens and the earth, and partakes emi¬ 
nently of the nature of a gossamer or soap-bubble. One 
of these jack-o’-lantern heroes, in taking a figure, which 
neither Euclid nor Pythagoras himself could demon¬ 
strate, unfortunately wound himself—I mean his feet— 
his better part—into a lady’s cobweb muslin robe; but 
perceiving it at the instant, he set himself a-spinning the 
other way, like a top, unraveled his step, without omit¬ 
ting one angle or curve, and extricated himself without 
breaking a thread of the lady’s dress! he then sprung 
up, like a sturgeon, crossed his feet four times, and fin¬ 
ished this wonderful evolution by quivering his left leg, 
as a cat does her paw when she has accidentally dipped 
it in water. No man, “of woman born,” who was not 
a Frenchman, or a mountebank, could have done the 
like. 

Among the new faces I remarked a blooming nymph, 
who has brought a fresh supply of roses from the coun¬ 
try to adorn the wreath of beauty, where lilies too much 
predominate. As I wish well to every sweet face under 
heaven, I sincerely hope her roses may survive the frosts 
and dissipations of winter, and lose nothing by a com¬ 
parison with the loveliest offerings of the spring. ’Sbid- 
likens, to whom I made similar remarks, assured me that 
they were very just and very prettily exprest; and that 
the lady in question was a prodigious fine piece of flesh 
and blood. Now, could I find it in my heart to baste 


AT SUPPER. 


49 


these cockneys like their own roast beef—they can make 
no distinction between a fine woman and a fine horse. 

I would praise the sylph-like grace with which an¬ 
other young lady acquitted herself in the dance, but that 
she excels in far more valuable accomplishments. Who 
praises the rose for its beauty, even though it is beautiful? 

The company retired at the customary hour to the 
supper-room, where the tables were laid out with their 
usual splendor and profusion. My friend, ’Sbidlikens, 
with the native forethought of a cockney, had carefully 
stowed his pocket with cheese and crackers, that he 
might not be tempted again to venture his limbs in the 
crowd of hungry fair ones who throng the supper-room 
door; his precaution was unnecessary, for the company 
entered the room with surprising order and decorum. 
No gowns were torn—no ladies fainted—no noses bled— 
nor was there any need of the interference of either 
managers or peace officers. 

4 


NO. II.—WEDNESDAY, FEB. 4, 1807. 


FROM THE ELBOW-CHAIR OF LAUNCELOT LANOSTAFP, 
ESQUIRE. 

^ the conduct of an epic poem, it has been the 
custom, from time immemorable, for the poet 
occasionally to introduce his reader to an in¬ 
timate acquaintance with the heroes of his story, by con¬ 
ducting him into their tents, and giving him an opportu¬ 
nity of observing them in their night-gown and slippers. 
However I despise the servile genius that would descend 
to follow a precedent, though furnished by Homer him¬ 
self, and consider him as on a par with the cart that fol¬ 
lows at the heels of the horse, without ever taking the 
lead, yet at the present moment my whim is opposed to 
my opinion; and whenever this is the case, my opinion 
generally surrenders at discretion. I am determined, 
therefore, to give the town a peep into our divan; and I 
shall repeat it as often as I please, to show that I intend 
to be sociable. 

The other night Will Wizard and Evergreen called 
upon me, to pass away a few hours in social chat, and 
hold a kind of council of war. To give a zest to oul 

50 








WHAT THEY SAT OF US. 


51 


evening, I uncorked a bottle of London Particular, which 
has grown old with myself, and which never fails to ex¬ 
cite a smile in the countenances of my old cronies, to 
whom alone it is devoted. After some little time the 
conversation turned on the effect produced by our first 
number; every one had his budget of information, and I 
assure my readers that we laughed most unceremoni¬ 
ously at their expense ; they will excuse us for our mer¬ 
riment—’tis a way we’ve got. Evergreen, who is equally 
a favorite and companion of young and old, was particu¬ 
larly satisfactory in his details ; and it was highly amus¬ 
ing to hear how different characters were tickled with 
different passages. The old folks were delighted to find 
there was a bias in our junto toward the “good old 
timesand he particularly noticed a worthy old gentle¬ 
man of his acquaintance, who had been somewhat a beau 
in his day, whose eyes brightened at the bare mention of 
Kissing-bridge. It recalled to his recollection several of 
his youthful exploits at that celebrated pass, on which he 
seemed to dwell with great pleasure and self-complsi- 
cency; he hoped, he said, that the bridge might be pre¬ 
served for the benefit of posterity, and as a monument of 
the gallantry of their grandfathers, and even hinted at 
the expediency of erecting a toll-gate there, to collect the 
forfeits of the ladies. But the most flattering testimony 
of approbation which our work has received, was from an 
old lady who never laughed but once in her life, and that 
was at the conclusion of the last war. She was detected 


52 


SALMAGUNDI. 


by friend Anthony in the very fact of laughing most 
obstreperously at the description of the little dancing 
Frenchman. Now it glads my very heart to find our effu¬ 
sions have such a pleasing effect. I venerate the aged, 
and joy whenever it is in my power to scatter a few flow¬ 
ers in their path. 

The young people were particularly interested in the 
account of the assembly. There was some difference 
of opinion respecting the new planet, and the blooming 
nymph from the country; but as to the compliment paid 
to the fascinating little sylph who danced so gracefully, 
every lady modestly took that to herself. 

Evergreen mentioned also that the young ladies were 
extremely anxious to learn the true mode of managing 
their beaux; and Miss Diana Wearwell, who is as chaste 
as an icicle, has seen a few superfluous winters pass 
over her head, and boasts of having slain her thousands, 
wished to know how old maids were to do without hus¬ 
bands ; not that she was very curious about the matter, 
she “only asked for information.” Several ladies ex¬ 
pressed their earnest desire that we would not spare 
those wooden gentlemen who perform the parts of 
mutes, or stalking-horses, in their drawing-rooms; and 
their mothers were equally anxious that we would show 
no quarter to those lads of spirit, who now and then cut 
their bottles to enliven a tea-party with the humors of 
the dinner-table. 

Will Wizard was not a little chagrined at having been 


DING-DONG. 


mistaken for a gentleman, “who is no more like me,” 
said Will, “than I like Hercules.” “I was well assured,” 
continued Will, “that as our characters were drawn from 
nature, the originals would be found in every society. 
And so it has happened—every little circle has its ’Sbid- 
likens; and the cockney, intended merely as the represen¬ 
tative of his species, has dwindled into an insignificant 
individual, who having recognized his own likeness, has 
foolishly appropriated to himself a picture for which he 
never sat. Such, too, has been the case with Ding-dong, 
who has kindly undertaken to be my representative; not 
that I care much about the matter, for it must be ac¬ 
knowledged that the animal is a good-natured animal 
enough,—and what is more, a fashionable animal,—and 
this is saying more than to call him a conjurer. But I 
am much mistaken if he can claim any affinity to the 
Wizard family. Surely everybody knows Ding-dong, the 
gentle Ding-dong, who pervades all space, who is here 
and there and everywhere; no tea-party can be complete 
without Ding-dong, and his appearance is sure to occa¬ 
sion a smile. Ding-dong has been the occasion of much 
wit in his day; I have even seen many puny whipsters 
attempt to be dull at his expense, who were as much in¬ 
ferior to him as the gad-fly is to the ox that he buzzes 
about. Does any witling want to distress the company 
with a miserable pun ?—nobody’s name presents sooner 
than Ding-dong’s; and it has been played upon with 
equal skill and equal entertainment to the bystanders as 


54 


SALMAGUNDI, 


Trinity-bells. Ding-dong is profoundly devoted to the 
ladies, and highly entitled to their regard; for I know no 
man who makes a better bow, or talks less to the pur¬ 
pose than Ding-dong. Ding-dong has acquired a pro¬ 
digious fund of knowledge by reading Dilworth when a 
boy; and the other day, on being asked who was the 
author of Macbeth, answered, without the least hesita¬ 
tion, Shakespeare! Ding-dong has a quotation for every 
day of the year, and every hour of the day, and every 
minute of the hour; but he often commits petty larcenies 
on the poets—plucks the gray hairs of old Chaucer’s 
head, and claps them on the chin of Pope; and filches 
Johnson’s wig to cover the bald pate of Homer; but his 
blunders pass undetected by one-half of his hearers. 
Ding-dong, it is true, though he has long wrangled at 
our bar, cannot boast much of his legal knowledge, nor 
does his forensic eloquence entitle him to rank with a 
Cicero or a Demosthenes; but bating his professional 
deficiencies, he is a man of most delectable discourse, 
and can hold forth for an hour upon the color of a rib¬ 
bon or the construction of a work-bag. Ding-dong is 
now in his fortieth year, or perhaps a little more—rivals 
all the little beaux in the town, in his attentions to the 
ladies—is in a state of rapid improvement; and there is 
no doubt that by the time he arrives at years of discre¬ 
tion, he will be a very accomplished, agreeable young 
fellow.” I advise all clever, good-for-nothing, “learned 
and authentic gentlemen,” to take care how they wear 


THE WIZARD FAMILY. 


55 


this cap, however well it fits; and to bear in mind, that our 
characters are not individuals, but species; if, after this 
warning, any person chooses to represent Mr. Ding-dong, 
the sin is at his own door; we wash our hands of it. 

We all sympathized with Wizard, that he should be 
mistaken for a person so very different; and I hereby 
assure my readers, that William Wizard is no other per¬ 
son in the whole world but William Wizard; so I beg I 
may hear no more conjectures on the subject. Will is, in 
fact, a wiseacre by inheritance. The Wizard family has 
long been celebrated for knowing more than their neigh¬ 
bors, particularly concerning their neighbors’ affairs. 
They were anciently called Josselin; but Will’s great- 
uncle, by the father’s side, having been accidentally burnt 
for a witch in Connecticut, in consequence of blowing up 
his own house in a philosophical experiment, the family, 
in order to perpetuate the recollection of this memorable 
circumstance, assumed the name and arms of Wizard, 
and have borne them ever since. 

In the course of my customary morning’s walk I stop¬ 
ped in a book-store, which is noted for being the favorite 
haunt of a number of literati, some of whom rank high in 
the opinion of the world, and others rank equally high 
in their own. Here I found a knot of queer fellows 
listening to one of their company, who was reading our 
paper; I particularly noticed Mr. Ichabod Fungus among 
the number. 

Fungus is one of those fidgeting, meddling quidnuncs 


66 


SALMAGUNDI. 


with which this unhappy city is pestered—one of our 
Q in a corner fellows,” who speaks volumes in a wink, 
conveys most portentous information by laying his finger 
beside his nose, and is always smelling a rat in the most 
trifiing occurrence. He listened to our work with the 
most frigid gravity—every now and then gave a myste¬ 
rious shrug, a humph, or a screw of the mouth; and on 
being asked his opinion at the conclusion, said, he did 
not know what to think of it; he hoped it did not mean 
anything against the government, that no lurking treason 
was couched in all this talk. These were dangerous 
times—times of plot and conspiracy; he did not at all 
like those stars after Mr. Jefferson’s name—they had an 
air of concealment. Dick Paddle, who was one of the 
group, undertook our cause. Dick is known to the world 
as being a most knowing genius, who can see as far as 
anybody—into a millstone, maintains, in the teeth of all 
argument, that a spade is a spade; and will labor a good 
half hour by St. Paul’s clock to establish a self-evident 
fact. Dick assured old Fungus that those stars merely 
stood for Mr. Jefferson’s red lohat-d'ye call-ems, and that, 
so far from a conspiracy against their peace and pros¬ 
perity, the authors, whom he knew very well, were only 
expressing their high respect for them. The old man 
shook his head, shrugged his shoulders, gave a myste¬ 
rious Lord Burleigh nod, said he hoped it might be so; 
but he was by no means satisfied with this attack upon 
the President’s breeches, as “ thereby hangs a tale.” 


MU8ICAL. 


57 


MR. WILSON’S CONCERT. 

BY ANTHONY EVERGREEN, GENT. 

JN my register of indisputable facts I have noted it con¬ 
spicuously, that all modern music is but mere dregs 
and draining of the ancient, and that all the spirit and 
vigor of harmony has entirely evaporated in the lapse of 
ages. O ! for the chant of the Naiades and Dryades, the 
shell of the Tritons, and the sweet warblings of the Mer¬ 
maids of ancient days! Where now shall we seek the 
Amphion, who built walls with a turn of his hurdy-gurdy, 
the Orpheus, who made stones to whistle about his ears, 
and trees hop in a country dance, by the mere quavering 
of his fiddle-stick I Ah 1 had I the power of the former, 
how soon would I build up the new City Hall,* and save 
the cash and credit of the Corporation; and how much 
sooner would I build myself a snug house in Broadway— 
nor would it be the first time a house has been obtained 
there for a song. In my opinion, the Scotch bagpipe is 
the only instrument that rivals the ancient lyre, and I 
am surprised it should be almost the only one entirely 
excluded from our concerts. 

Talking of concerts reminds me of that given a few 
nights since by Mr. Wilson, at which I had the misfor¬ 
tune of being present. It was attended by a numerous 

* This edifice, the corner-stone of which was laid by Mayor Edward 
Livingston in 1803, was not finished till 1812. 


68 


SALMAGUNDI. 


company, and gave great satisfaction, if I may be allowed 
to judge from the frequent gapings of the audience; 
though I will not risk my credit as a connoisseur by say¬ 
ing whether they proceeded from wonder or a violent in¬ 
clination to doze. I was delighted to find in the mazes 
of the crowd my particular friend ’Sbidlikens, who had 
put on his cognoscenti phiz—he being, according to his 
own account, a profound adept in the science of music. 
He can tell a crotchet at first sight; and, like a true Eng¬ 
lishman, is delighted with the plum-pudding rotundity of 
a semibref; and, in short, boasts of having incontinently 
climbed up Paff’s musical tree,* which hangs every day 
upon the poplar, from the fundamental concord to the 
fundamental major discord; and so on from branch to 
branch, until he reached the very top, where he sung 
“Eule, Britannia,” clapped his wings, and then—came 
down again. Like all true transatlantic judges, he suffers 
most horribly at our musical entertainments, and assures 
me that what with the confounded scraping and scratch¬ 
ing and grating of our fiddlers, he thinks the sitting out 
one of our concerts tantamount to the punishment of that 
unfortunate saint who was frittered in two with a hand¬ 
saw. 

The concert was given in the tea-room at the City 
Hotel; an apartment admirably calculated, by its dingy 
walls, beautifully marbled with smoke, to show off the 

* An emblematical device, suspended from a poplar in front of the shop 
of Paff, a music-seller in Broadway .—Paris Ed. 


A CONCERT. 


59 


dresses and complexions of the ladies ; and by the flat¬ 
ness of its ceiling to repress those impertinent reverbera¬ 
tions of the music, which, whatever others may foolishly 
assert, are, as ’Sbidlikens says, “no better than repeti¬ 
tions of old stories.” 

Mr. Wilson gave me infinite satisfaction by the gen¬ 
tility of his demeanor, and the roguish looks he now and 
then cast at the ladies, but we fear his excessive modesty 
threw him into some little confusion, for he absolutely 
forgot himself, and in the whole course of his entrances 
and exits, never once made his bow to the audience. On 
the whole, however, I think he has a fine voice, sings 
with great taste, and is a very modest, good-looking little 
man; but I beg leave to repeat the advice so often given 
by the illustrious tenants of the theatrical sky-parlor, to 
the gentlemen who are charged with the “ nice conduct ” 
of chairs and tables—“make a bow, Johnny—Johnny, 
make a bow! ” 

I cannot, on this occasion, but express my surprise 
that certain amateurs should be so frequently at con¬ 
certs, considering what agonies they suffer while a piece 
of music is playing. I defy any man of common human¬ 
ity, and who has not the heart of a Choctaw, to contem¬ 
plate the countenance of one of these unhappy victims of 
a fiddle-stick without feeling a sentiment of compassion. 
His whole visage is distorted; he rolls up his eyes, as 
M’Sycophant says, “ like a duck in thunder,” and the 
music seems to operate upon him like a fit of the colic; 


60 


SALMAGUNDI. 


his very bowels seem to sympathize at every twang oi 
the catgut, as if he heard at that moment the wailings of 
the helpless animal that had been sacrificed to harmony. 
Nor does the hero of the orchestra seem less affected; as 
soon as the signal is given, he seizes his fiddle-stick, 
makes a most horrible grimace, scowls fiercely upon his 
music-book, as though he would grin every crotchet and 
quaver out of countenance. I have sometimes particu¬ 
larly noticed a hungry-looking Gaul, who torments a 
huge bass viol, and who is doubtless the original of the fa¬ 
mous “ Raw-head-and-bloody-bones,” so potent in fright¬ 
ening naughty children. 

The person who played the French horn was very ex¬ 
cellent in his way, but ’Sbidlikens could not relish his 
performance, having some time since heard a gentleman 
amateur in Gotham play a solo on his proboscis, in a style 
infinitely superior. Snout, the bellows-mender, never 
turned his wind instrument more musically; nor did the 
celebrated “knight of the burning lamp ” ever yield more 
exquisite entertainment with his nose; this gentleman 
had latterly ceased to exhibit this prodigious accom¬ 
plishment, having, it was whispered, hired out his snout 
to a ferryman, who had lost his conch-shell; the conse¬ 
quence was that he did not show his nose in company so 
frequently as before. 


THE COCKLOFT HUMORti. 


61 


ITTING late the other evening in my elbow-chair, 



^ indulging in that kind of indolent meditation, which 
I consider the perfection of human bliss, I was aroused 
from my revery by the entrance of an old servant in the 
Cockloft livery, who handed me a letter, containing the 
following address from my cousin and old college chum, 
Pindar Cockloft. 

Honest Andrew, as he delivered it, informed me that 
his master, who resides a little way from town, on read¬ 
ing a small pamphlet in a neat yellow cover,* rubbed his 
hands with symptoms of great satisfaction, called for his 
favorite Chinese inkstand, with two sprawling Mandarins 
for its supporters, and wrote the letter which he had the 
honor to present me. 

As I foresee my cousin will one day become a great 
favorite with the public, and as I know him to be some¬ 
what punctilious as it respects etiquette, I shall take this 
opportunity to gratify the old gentleman, by giving him 
a proper introduction to the fashionable world. The 
Cockloft family, to which I have the comfort of being 
related, has been fruitful in old bachelors and humorists, 
as will be perceived when I come to treat more of its 
history. My cousin Pindar is one of its most conspic¬ 
uous members—he is now in his fifty-eighth year—is 
a bachelor, partly through choice, and partly through 

* The numbers of Salmagundi were originally published in this form. 


62 


SALMAGUNDI. 


chance, and an oddity of the first water. Half his life 
has been employed in writing odes, sonnets, epigrams, 
and elegies, which he seldom shows to anybody but my¬ 
self after they are written; and all the old chests, draw¬ 
ers, and chair-bottoms in the house, teem with his pro¬ 
ductions. 

In his younger days he figured as a dashing blade ii^ 
the great world; and no young fellow of the town wore a 
longer pig-tail, or carried more buckram in his skirts. 
From sixteen to thirty he was continually in love, and 
during that period, to use his own words, he be-scribbled 
more paper than would serve the theatre for snow-storms 
a whole season. The evening of his thirtieth birthday, 
as he sat by the fire-side, as much in love as ever was 
man in this world, and writing the name of his mistress 
in the ashes, with an old tongs that had lost one of its 
legs, he was seized with a whim-wham that he was an 
old fool to be in love at his time of life. It was ever one 
of the Cockloft characteristics to strike to whim: and 
had Pindar stood out on this occasion he would have 
brought the reputation of his mother in question. From 
that time he gave up all particular attentions to the 
ladies; and though he still loves their company, he has 
never been known to exceed the bounds of common cour¬ 
tesy in his intercourse with them. He was the life and 
ornament of our family circle in town, until the epoch of 
the French Revolution, which sent so many unfortunate 
dancing-masters from their country to polish and en- 


COCKLOFT HALL. 


63 


lighten our hemisphere. This was a sad time for Pin¬ 
dar, who had taken a genuine Cockloft prejudice against 
everything French, ever since he was brought to death’s 
door by a ragout: he groaned at ^'a Ira, and the Mar¬ 
seilles Hymn had much the same effect upon him, that 
sharpening a knife on a dry whetstone has upon some 
people—it set his teeth chattering. He might in time 
have been reconciled to these rubs, had not the introduc¬ 
tion of French cockades on the hats of our citizens abso¬ 
lutely thrown him into a fever. The first time he saw an 
instance of this kind, he came home with great precipita¬ 
tion, packed up his trunk, his old-fashioned writing-desk, 
and his Chinese inkstand, and made a kind of growling 
retreat to Cockloft Hall,* where he has resided ever 
since. 

My cousin Pindar is of a mercurial disposition—a hu¬ 
morist without ill-nature—he is of the true gunpowder 
temper; one flash, and all is over. It is true when thpe 
wind is easterly, or the gout gives him a gentle twinge, 

* Cockloft Hall had its origin in a favorite resort of Irving and his 
companions, in an old country house, once the residence of the Kembles, 
on the Passaic, near Newark. It was then known, says the writer of a 
pleasant reminiscence in the Newark Advertiser, as the “Gk>uvemeur 
Place,” from which family it had descended to Mr. Gouvemeur Kemble ; 
but during most of the time referred to it was not inhabited by the fam¬ 
ily, but was in charge of a respectable couple, who kept it in order, and 
acted as host and hostess to Irving, Paulding, and the three or four oth¬ 
ers, constituting their coterie.” Mr. Irving, in a letter to the New Jer¬ 
sey Historical Society, referring to these visits, remarked, “With New- 
#~k are associated in my mind many pleasant recollections of early days, 
and of social meetings at an old mansion on the banks of the Passaic.” 


64 


SALMAGUNDI. 


or lie hears of any new successes of the French, he will 
become a little splenetic ; and heaven help the man, and 
more particularly the woman, that crosses his humor at 
that moment—she is sure to receive no quarter. These 
are the most sublime moments of Pindar. I swear to 
you, dear ladies and gentlemen, I would not lose one of 
these splenetic bursts for the best wig in my wardrobe; 
even though it were proved to be the identical wig worn 
by the sage Linkum Fidelius, when he demonstrated be¬ 
fore the whole University of Leyden, that it was possible 
to make bricks without straw. I have seen the old gen¬ 
tleman blaze forth such a volcanic explosion of wit, 
ridicule, and satire, that I was almost tempted to be¬ 
lieve him inspired. But these sallies only lasted for 
a moment, and passed like summer clouds over the 
benevolent sunshine which ever warmed his heart and 
lighted up his countenance. 

♦ Time, though it has dealt roughly with his person, 
has passed lightly over the graces of his mind, and left 
him in full possession of all the sensibilities of youth. 
His eye kindles at the relation of a noble and generous 
action, his heart melts at the story of distress, and he is 
still a warm admirer of the fair. Like all old bachelors, 
however, he looks back with a fond and lingering eye on 
the period of his boyhood; and would sooner suffer the 
pangs of matrimony than acknowledge that the world, or 
anything in it, is half so clever as it was in those good 
old times that are “ gone by.” 


A POETICAL EPISTLE. 


65 


I believe I have already mentioned, that with all his 
good qualities he is a humorist, and a humorist of the 
highest order. He has some of the most intolerable 
whim-whams I ever met with in my life, and his oddities 
are sufficient to eke out a hundred tolerable originals. 
But I will not enlarge on them—enough has been told to 
excite a desire to know more ; and I am much mistaken 
if, in the course of half a dozen of our numbers, he don’t 
tickle, plague, please, and perplex the whole town, and 
completely establish his claim to the laureate-ship he has 
solicited, and with which we hereby invest him, recom¬ 
mending him and his effusions to public reverence and 
respect. Launcelot Langstaff. 


TO LAUNCELOT LANGSTAFF, ESQ. 



EAK LAUNCE, 


As I find you have taken the quill. 

To put our gay town and its fair under drill, 

I offer my hopes for success to your cause. 

And send you nnvarnish’d my mite of applause. 

Ah, Launce, this poor town has been wofully fash’d ; 
Has long been be-Frenchman’d, be-cockney’d, be-trash’d. 
And our ladies bedevil’d, bewilder’d astray. 

From the rules of their grandames have wandered away. 
No longer that modest demeanor we meet. 

Which whilom the eyes of our fathers did greet • 


5 



66 


SALMAGUNDI, 


No longer be-mobbled, be-ruffled, be-quilled, 

Be-powder’d, be-hooded, be-patch’d, and be-frill’d. 

No longer our fair ones their grograms display, 

And stiff in brocade, strut ‘‘ like castles away. 

0, how fondly my soul forms departed have traced. 
When our ladies in stays, and in bodice well laced. 

When bishop’d, and cushion’d, and hoop’d to the chin, 
Well calash’d without, and well bolster’d within ; 

All cased in their buckrams, from crown down to tail. 
Like O’Brallaghan’s mistress, were shaped like a pail. 

Well—peace to those fashions—the joy of our eyes— 
Tempora mutantur, new follies will rise ; 

Yet, ^^like joys that are past,” they still crowd on 
mind. 

In moments of thought, as the soul looks behind. 

Sweet days of our boyhood, gone by, my dear Launce, 
Like the shadows of night, or the forms in a trance ; 

Yet oft we retrace those bright visions again. 

Nos mutamur, ’tis true—^but those visions remain. 

I recall with delight, how my bosom would creep. 

When some delicate foot from its chamber would peep; 
And when I a neat stocking’d ankle could spy. 

By the sages of old I was rapt to the sky ! 

All then was retiring, was modest, discreet; 

The beauties, all shrouded, were left to conceit— 

To the visions which fancy would form in her eye. 

Of graces that snug in soft ambush would lie ; 

And the heart, like the poets, in thought would pursue 
The elysium of bliss which was veiled from its view. 


A POETICAL EPISTLE. 


67 


We are old-fashion’d fellows, our nieces will say : 
Old-fashioned, indeed, coz—and swear it they may— 
For I freely confess that it yields me no pride, 

To see them all blaze what their mothers would hide : 
To see them, all shivering, some cold winter’s day. 

So lavish their beauties and graces display. 

And give to each fopling that offers his hand. 

Like Moses from Pisgah—a peep at the land. 

But a truce with complaining—the object in view 
Is to offer my help in the work you pursue ; 

And as your effusions and labors sublime, 

May need, now and then, a few touches of rhyme, 

I humbly solicit, as cousin and friend, 

A quiddity, quirk, or remonstrance to send : 

Or should you a laureate want in your plan. 

By the muff of my grandmother, I am your man I 
You must know I have got a poetical mill. 

Which with odd lines, and couplets, and triplets I fill; 
And a poem I grind, as from rags white and blue 
The paper-mill yields you a sheet fair and new. 

I can grind down an ode, or an epic that’s long. 

Into sonnet, acrostic, conundrum, or song : 

As to dull hudibrastic, so boasted of late. 

The doggrel discharge of some muddle-brain’d pat€> 

I can grind it by wholesale—and give it its point. 

With billingsgate dished up in rhymes out of joint. 

I have read all the poets, and got them by heart; 

Can slit them, and twist them, and take them apart , 
Can cook up an ode out of patches and shreds, 

To muddle my readers and bother their heads. 


68 


SALMAGUNDI. 


Did Homer, and Virgil, and Ovid I scan, 

Anacreon, and Sappho, who changed to a swan ; 
lambics and sapphics I grind at my will. 

And with duties of love every noddle can fill. 

0, ’twould do your heart good, Launce, to see my mill 
grind 

Old stuff into verses and poems refin’d :— 

Dan Spenser, Dan Chaucer, those poets of old. 

Though covered with dust, are yet true sterling gold ; 

I can grind off their tarnish, and bring them to view, 
New-modell’d, new-mill’d, and improved in their hue. 

But I promise no more—only give me the place. 

And I’ll warrant I’ll fill it with credit and grace. 

By the living ! I’ll figure and cut you a dash— 

As bold as Will Wizard, or ’Sbidlikensfiash ! 

Pindar Cocklofl 


ADVERTISEMENT. 

~p>EBHAPS the most fruitful source of mortification to 
a merry writer, who, for the amusement of himself 
and the public, employs his leisure in sketching odd char¬ 
acters from imagination, is, that he cannot flourish his pen 
but every Jack-pudding imagines it is pointed directly at 
himself; he cannot, in his gambols, throw a fool’s cap 
among the crowd, but every queer fellow insists upon put¬ 
ting it on his own head; or chalk an outlandish flgure, 
but every outlandish genius is eager to write his own 



AN ADVERTISEMENT. 


69 


name under it. However we may be mortified, that these 
men should each individually think himself of sufficient 
consequence to engage our attention, we should not care 
a rush about it, if they did not get into a passion, and 
complain of having been ill used. 

It is not in our hearts to hurt the feelings of one single 
mortal by holding him up to public ridicule; and if it 
were, we lay it down as one of our indisputable facts, 
that no man can be made ridiculous but by his own folly. 
As, however, we are aware that when a man by chance 
gets a thwack in the crowd, he is apt to suppose the blow 
was intended exclusively for himself, and so fall into un¬ 
reasonable anger, we have determined to let these crusty 
gentry know what kind of satisfaction they are to expect 
from us. We are resolved not to fight, for three special 
reasons : first, because fighting is at all events extremely 
troublesome and inconvenient, particularly at this season 
of the year; second, because if either of us should hap¬ 
pen to be killed, it would be a great loss to the public, 
and rob them of many a good laugh we have in store for 
their amusement; and third, because if we should chance 
to kill our adversary, as is most likely, for we can every 
one of us split balls upon razors and snuff candles, it would 
be a loss to our publisher, by deprmng him of a good cus¬ 
tomer. If any gentleman casuist will give three as good 
reasons for fighting, we promise him a complete set of 
Salmagundi for nothing. 

But though we do not fight in our own proper persons, 


70 


8ALMAOUNDL 


let it not be supposed that we will not give ample satis¬ 
faction to all those who may choose to demand it, for this 
would be a mistake of the first magnitude, and lead very 
valiant gentlemen perhaps into what is called a quan¬ 
dary. It would be a thousand and one pities that any 
honest man, after taking to himself the cap and bells 
which we merely offered to his acceptance, should not 
have the privilege of being cudgeled into the bargain. 
We pride ourselves upon giving satisfaction in every de¬ 
partment of our paper; and to fill that of fighting, have 
engaged two of those strapping heroes of the theatre, 
who figure in the retinues of our gingerbread kings and 
queens ; now hurry an old stuff petticoat on their backs, 
and strut senators of Kome, or aldermen of London; and 
now be-whisker their muffin faces with burnt cork, and 
swagger right valiant warriors, armed cap-a-pie, in buck¬ 
ram. Should, therefore, any great little man about town 
take offense at our good-natured villainy, though we in¬ 
tend to offend nobody under heaven, he will please to 
apply at any hour after twelve o’clock, as our champions 
will then be off duty at the theatre and ready for any¬ 
thing. They have promised to fight “ with or without 
balls ; ” to give two tweaks of the nose for one; to sub¬ 
mit to be kicked, and to cudgel their applicant most 
heartily in return; this being what we understand by 
“the satisfaction of a gentleman.” 


NO. III.—FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 13, 1807. 


FROM MY ELBOW-CHAIR. 

S I delight in everything novel and eccentric, and 
would at any time give an old coat for a new 
idea, I am particularly attentive to the manners 
and conversation of strangers, and scarcely ever a travel¬ 
ler enters this city whose appearance promises anything 
original, but by some means or another I form an ac¬ 
quaintance with him. I must confess I often suffer man¬ 
ifold afflictions from the intimacies thus contracted: my 
curiosity is frequently punished by the stupid details of a 
blockhead, or the shallow verbosity of a coxcomb. Now, 
I would prefer at any time to travel with an ox-team 
through a Carolina sand-flat, rather than plod through a 
heavy, unmeaning conversation with the former; and as 
to the latter, I would sooner hold sweet converse with 
the wheel of a knife-grinder than endure his monotonous 
chattering. In fact, the strangers who flock to this most 
pleasant of all earthly cities are generally mere birds of 
passage, whose plumage is often gay enough, I own, but 
their notes, “ heaven save the mark,” are as unmusical as 
those of that classic night-bird which the ancients hu- 

71 






72 


SALMAGUNDI. 


morously selected as the emblem of wisdom. Those from 
the South, it is true, entertain me with their horses, 
equipages, and puns; and it is excessively pleasant to 
hear a couple of these four-in-hand gentlemen detail 
their exploits over a bottle. Those from the East have 
often induced me to doubt the existence of the wise men 
of yore, who are said to have flourished in that quarter; 
and as for those from parts beyond seas—O! my mas¬ 
ters, ye shall hear more from me anon. Heaven help 
this unhappy town ! hath it not goslings enow of its 
own hatching and rearing, that it must be overwhelmed 
by such an inundation of ganders from other climes ? I 
would not have any of my courteous and gentle readers 
suppose that I am running a much, full tilt, cut and slash, 
upon all foreigners indiscriminately. I have no national 
antipathies, though related to the Cockloft family. As 
to honest John Bull, I shake him heartily by the hand, 
assuring him that I love his jolly countenance, and, 
moreover, am lineally descended from him; in proof of 
which I allege my invincible predilection for roast beef 
and pudding. I therefore look upon all his children as 
my kinsmen; and I beg, when I tickle a cockney, I may 
not be understood as trimming an Englishman;—they 
being very distinct animals, as I shall clearly demon¬ 
strate in a future number. If any one wishes to know 
my opinion of the Irish and Scotch, he may find it in the 
characters of those two nations, drawn by the first ad¬ 
vocate of the age. But the French, I must confess, are 


MUSTAPHA RUB-A-DUB KELI KHAN. 


73 


my favorites ; and I Lave taken more pains to argue my 
cousin Pindar out of Lis antipatLy to tLem tLan I ever 
did about any otLer tLing. WLen, tLerefore, I cLoose to 
Lunt a Monsieur for my own particular amusement, I 
beg it may not be asserted tLat I intend Lim as a repre¬ 
sentative of Lis countrymen at large. Far from tLis; I 
love tLe nation, as being a nation of right merry fellows, 
possessing tLe true secret of being Lappy; wLicL is 
nothing more than thinking of nothing, talking about 
anything, and laughing at everything. I mean only to 
tune up those little thingimys, who represent nobody but 
themselves; who have no national trait about them but 
their language, and who hop about our town in swarms, 
like little toads after a shower. 

Among the few strangers whose acquaintance has en¬ 
tertained me, I particularly rank the magnanimous Mus- 
tapha Eub-a-dub Keli Khan, a most illustrious captain 
of a ketch, who figured, some time since, in our fashion¬ 
able circles, at the head of a ragged regiment of Tripo¬ 
litan prisoners.* His conversation was to me a perpetual 
feast; I chuckled with inward pleasure at his whimsical 
mistakes and unaffected observations on men and man¬ 
ners, and I rolled each odd conceit “ like a sweet morsel 
under my tongue.” 

* Several Tripolitan prisoners, taken by an American squadron, In an 
pction off Tripoli, were brought to New York, where they lived at large, 
objects of the curiosity and hospitality of the inhabitants, until an oppor¬ 
tunity presented to restore them to their own country.—Parw Ed. 


74 


SALMAGUNDI. 


Whetlier Mustapha was captivated by my iron-bound 
physiognomy, or flattered by the attentions which I paid 
him, I won’t determine; but I so far gained his con¬ 
fidence, that, at his departure, he presented me with a 
bundle of papers, containing, among other articles, sev¬ 
eral copies of letters, which he had written to his friends 
at Tripoli. The following is a translation of one of them. 
The original is in Arabic-Greek; but by the assistance 
of Will Wizard, who understands all languages, not ex¬ 
cepting that manufactured by Psalmanazar, I have been 
enabled to accomplish a tolerable translation. We should 
have found little difficulty in rendering it into English, 
had it not been for Mustapha’s confounded pot-hooks 
and trammels. 


LETTER FROM MUSTAPHA RUB-A-DUB KELI KHAN, 

CAPTAIN OF A KETCH, TO A8EM HACCHEM, PRINCIPAL SLAVE-DRIVER TO HIS 
HIGHNESS THE BASHAW OF TRIPOLI. 

^HOU wilt learn from this letter, most illustrious dis¬ 
ciple of Mahomet, that I have for some time resided 
in New York; the most polished, vast, and magnificent 
city of the United States of America. But what to me 
are its delights! I wander a captive through its splen¬ 
did streets, I turn a heavy eye on every rising day that 
beholds me banished from my country. The Christian 
husbands here lament most bitterly any short absence 



LETTER OF MUSTAPHA. 


75 


from home, though they leave but one wife behind to 
lament their departure; what then must be the feelings 
of thy unhappy kinsman, while thus lingering at an im¬ 
measurable distance from three-and-twenty of the most 
lovely and obedient wives in all Tripoli! O Allah! shall 
thy servant never again return to his native land, nor 
behold his beloved wives, who beam on his memory 
beautiful as the rosy morn of the east, and graceful as 
Mahomet’s camel! 

Yet beautiful, O most puissant slave-driver, as are my 
wives, they are far exceeded by the women of this coun¬ 
try. Even those who run about the streets with bare 
arms and necks (et cetera)^ whose habiliments are too 
scanty to protect them from the inclemency of the sea¬ 
sons, or the scrutinizing glances of the curious, and who 
it would seem belong to nobody, are lovely as the houris 
that people the elysium of true believers. If, then, such 
as run wild in the highways, and whom no one cares 
to appropriate, are thus beauteous, what must be the 
charms of those who are shut up in the seraglios, and 
never permitted to go abroad! surely the region of 
beauty, the Valley of the Graces, can contain nothing 
so inimitably fair! 

But, notwithstanding the charms of these infidel 
women, they are apt to have one fault, which is ex¬ 
tremely troublesome and inconvenient. Wouldst thou 
believe it, Asem, I have been positively assured by a 
famous dervise, or doctor, as he is here called, that at 


76 


SALMAGUNDI. 


least one-fifth part of them—have souls ! Incredible as 
it may seem to thee, I am the more inclined to believe 
them in possession of this monstrous superfluity, from m^ 
own little experience, and from the information which I 
have derived from others. In walking the streets I have ac¬ 
tually seen an exceedingly good-looking woman, with soul 
enough to box her husband’s ears to his heart’s content, 
and my very whiskers trembled with indignation at the 
abject state of these wretched infidels. I am told, more¬ 
over, that some of the women have soul enough to usurp 
the breeches of the men, but these I suppose are married 
and kept close; for I have not, in my rambles, met with 
any so extravagantly accoutred: others, I am informed, 
have soul enough to swear!—yea! by the beard of the 
great Omar, who prayed three times to each of the one 
hundred and twenty-four thousand prophets of our most 
holy faith, and who never swore but once in his life— 
they actually swear! 

Get thee to the mosque, good Asem! return thanks to 
our most holy prophet, that he has been thus mindful of 
the comfort of all true Mussulmans, and has given them 
wives with no more souls than cats and dogs, and other 
necessary animals of the household. 

Thou wilt doubtless be anxious to learn our reception 
in this country, and how we were treated by a people 
whom we have been accustomed to consider as unen¬ 
lightened barbarians. 

On landing we were waited upon to our lodgings, I 


THE GRAND BASHAW. 


77 


suppose according to the directions of the municipality, 
by a vast and respectable escort of boys and negroes, 
who shouted and threw up their hats, doubtless to do 
honor to the magnanimous Mustapha, captain of a ketch, 
they were somewhat ragged and dirty in their equip¬ 
ments, but this we attributed to their republican sim¬ 
plicity. One of them,.in the zeal of admiration, threw an 
old shoe, which gave thy friend rather an ungentle salu¬ 
tation on one side of the head, whereat I was not a little 
offended, until the interpreter informed us that this was 
the customary manner in which great men were honored 
in this country; and that the more distinguished they 
were, the more they were subjected to the attacks and 
peltings of the mob. Upon this I bowed my head three 
times, with my hands to my turban, and made a speech 
in Arabic-Greek, which gave great satisfaction, and occa¬ 
sioned a shower of old shoes, hats, and so forth, that was 
exceedingly refreshing to us all. 

Thou wilt not as yet expect that I should give thee an 
account of the laws and politics of this country. I will 
reserve them for some future letter, when I shall be more 
experienced in their complicated and seemingly contra¬ 
dictory nature. 

This empire is governed by a grand and most puissant 
bashaw, whom they dignify with the title of president. 
He is chosen by persons, who are chosen by an assem¬ 
bly, elected by the people—hence the mob is called the 
sovereign people—and the country, free; the body politic 


78 


8ALMAGUNDL 


doubtless resembling a vessel, which is best governed 
by its tail. The present bashaw is a very plain old gen¬ 
tleman—something they say of a humorist, as he amuses 
himself with impaling butterflies and pickling tadpoles; 
he is rather declining in popularity, having given great 
offense by wearing red breeches and tying his horse to a 
post.* The people of the United States have assured me 
that they themselves are the most enlightened nation 
under the sun; but thou knowest that the barbarians of 
the desert, who assemble at the summer solstice, to shoot 
their arrows at that glorious luminary, in order to extin¬ 
guish his burning rays, make precisely the same boast— 
which of them have the superior claim, I shall not at¬ 
tempt to decide. 

I have observed, with some degree of surprise, that the 
men of this country do not seem in haste to accommodate 
themselves even with the single wife which alone the 
laws permit them to marry ; this backwardness is proba¬ 
bly owing to the misfortune of their absolutely having no 
female mutes among them. Thou knowest how valuable 
are these silent companions—what a price is given for 

* This is another allusion to the primitive habits of Mr. Jefferson, who, 
even while the first magistrate of the Republic, and on occasions when a 
little of the “pomp and circumstance” of office would not have been in¬ 
compatible with that situation, was accustomed to dress in the plainest 
garb, and when on horseback to be without an attendant; so that it not 
unfrequently happened that he might be seen, when the business of the 
state required his personal presence, riding up alone to the government 
house at Washington, and having tied his steed to the nearest post, pro¬ 
ceed to transact the important business of the nation .—PaHa Ed. 


TEE GRACES AND MUSES 


79 


them in the East, and what entertaining wives they 
make. What delightful entertainment arises from be¬ 
holding the silent eloquence of their sighs and gestures; 
but a wife possessed both of a tongue and a soul—mon¬ 
strous ! monstrous! is it astonishing that these unhappy 
infidels should shrink from a union with a woman so pre¬ 
posterously endowed! 

Thou hast doubtless read in the works of Abul Faraj, 
the Arabian historian, the tradition which mentions that 
the muses were once upon the point of falling together 
by the ears about the admission of a tenth among their 
number, until she assured them, by signs, that she was 
dumb; whereupon they received her with great rejoicing. 
I should, perhaps, inform thee that there are but nine 
Christian muses, who were formerly pagans, but have 
since been converted, and that in this country we never 
hear of a tenth, unless some crazy poet wishes to pay a 
hyperbolical compliment to his mistress; on which oc¬ 
casion it goes hard, but she figures as a tenth muse, or 
fourth grace, even though she should be more illiterate 
than a Hottentot, and more ungraceful than a dancing 
bear! Since my arrival in this country, I have met with 
not less than a hundred of these supernumerary muses 
and graces—and may Allah preserve me from ever meet¬ 
ing with any more! 

When I have studied this people more profoundly, I 
will write thee again: in the meantime watch over my 
household, and do not beat my beloved wives unless you 


80 


SALMAGUNDI. 


catch them with their noses out at the window. Though 
far distant and a slave, let me live in thy heart as thou 
livest in mine; think not, O friend of my soul, that the 
splendors of this luxurious capital, its gorgeous palaces, 
its stupendous mosques, and the beautiful females who 
run wild in herds about its streets, can obliterate thee 
from my remembrance. Thy name shall still be men¬ 
tioned in the five-and-twenty prayers which I offer up 
daily; and may our great prophet, after bestowing on 
thee all the blessings of this life, at length, in good old 
age, lead thee gently by the hand, to enjoy the dignity 
of bashaw of three tails in the blissful bowers of Eden. 

Mustapha. 


FASHIONS. 

BY ANTHONY EVERGREEN, GENT. 

The following article is furnished me hy a young lady of unquestionable 
taste, and who is the oracle of fashion and frippery. Being deeply in¬ 
itiated into all the mysteries of the toilet, she has promised me, from 
time to time, a similar detail. 

nyjpES. TOOLE has for some time reigned unrivaled in 
the fashionable world, and had the supreme direc¬ 
tion of caps, bonnets, feathers, flowers, and tinsel. She 
has dressed and undressed our ladies just as she pleased; 
now loading them with velvet and wadding, now turning 
them adrift upon the world to run shivering through the 



FASHIONS. 


81 


streets with scarcely a covering to their—backs; and now 
obliging them to drag a long train at their heels, like 
the tail of a paper kite. Her despotic sway, however, 
threatens to be limited. A dangerous rival has sprung 
up in the person of Madame Bouchard, an intrepid little 
woman, fresh from the head-quarters of fashion and folly, 
and who has burst like a second Bonaparte upon the 
fashionable world. Mrs. Toole, notwithstanding, seems 
determined to dispute her ground bravely for the honor 
of old England. The ladies have begun to arrange them¬ 
selves under the banner of one or other of these heroines 
of the needle, and everything portends open war. Ma¬ 
dame Bouchard marches gallantly to the field, flourishing 
A flaming red robe for a standard, “ flouting the skies ; ” 
and Mrs. Toole, nowise dismayed, sallies out under cov¬ 
er of a forest of artificial flowers, like Malcolm’s host. 
Both parties possess great merit, and both deserve the 
victory. Mrs. Toole charges the highest, but Madame 
Bouchard makes the lowest courtesy. Madame Bouchard 
Is a little short lady—nor is there any hope of her grow¬ 
ing larger; but then she is perfectly genteel, and so is 
Mrs. Toole. Mrs. Toole lives in Broadway, and Madame 
Bouchard in Courtlandt street; but Madame atones for 
the inferiority of her stand by making two courtesies to 
Mrs Toole’s one, and talking French like an angel. Mrs. 
Toole is the best looking, but Madame Bouchard wears a 
most bewitching little scrubby wig. Mrs. Toole is the 
tallest, but Madame Bouchard lias the longest nose. 

6 


32 


SALMAGUNDI. 


Mrs. Toole is fond of roast beef, but Madame Bouchard 
is loyal in her adherence to onions ; in short, so equally 
are the merits of the two ladies balanced, that there is no 
judging which will “ kick the beam.” It, however, seems 
to be the prevailing opinion that Madame Bouchard will 
carry the day, because she wears a wig, has a long nose, 
talks French, loves onions, and does not charge above 
ten times as much for a thing as it is worth. 


U'nmr the direction of these high priestesses of the heau-monde, the follovh 
ing is the fashionable morning dress for walking. 

Ip the weather be very cold, a thin muslin gown or frock 
is most advisable, because it agrees with the season, be¬ 
ing perfectly cool. The neck, arms, and particularly the 
elbows bare, in order that they may be agreeably painted 
and mottled by Mr. John Frost, nose-painter-general, of 
the color of Castile soap. Shoes of kid, the thinnest that 
can possibly be procured—as they tend to promote colds, 
and make a lady look interesting— {i. e. grizzly). Picnic 
silk stockings, with lace clocks, flesh-colored are most 
fashionable, as they have the appearance of bare legs— 
nvdity being all the rage. The stockings carelessly be¬ 
spattered with mud, to agree with the gown, which should 
be bordered about three inches deep with the most fash¬ 
ionable colored mud that can be found; the ladies per¬ 
mitted to hold up their trains, after they have swept two 



MORNING DRESS. 


83 


or three streets, in order to show—the clocks of their 
stockings. The shawl scarlet, crimson, flame, orange, 
salmon, or any other combustible or brimstone color, 
thrown over one shoulder, like an Indian blanket, with 
one end dragging on the ground. 

N. B. If the ladies have not a red shawl at hand, a red 
petticoat, turned topsy-turvy over the shoulders, would 
do just as well. This is called being dressed d la drabble. 

When the ladies do not go abroad of a morning, the 
usual chimney-corner dress is a dotted, spotted, striped, 
or cross-barred gown; a yellowish, whitish, smokish, 
dirty-colored shawl, and the hair curiously ornamented 
with little bits of newspapers, or pieces of a letter 
from a dear friend. This is called the “Cinderella 
dress.” 

The recipe for a full dress is as follows : take of spider- 
net, crape, satin, gimp, cat-gut, gauze, whalebone, lace, 
bobbin, ribbons, and artificial flowers, as much as will rig 
out the congregation of a village church; to these, add 
as many spangles, beads, and gewgaws as would be suffi¬ 
cient to turn the heads of all the fashionable fair ones of 
Nootka Sound. Let Mrs. Toole or Madame Bouchard 
patch all these articles together, one upon another, dash 
them plentifully over with stars, bugles, and tinsel, and 
they will altogether form a dress, which, hung upon a 
lady’s back, cannot fail of supplying the place of beauty, 
youth, and grace, and of reminding the spectator of that 
celebrated region of finery called Bag Fair. 


84 


SALMAGUNDI, 


NE of the greatest sources of amusement incident to 



our humorous knight-errantry is to ramble about, 
and hear the various conjectures of the towu respecting 
our worships, whom everybody pretends to know as well 
as Falstaff did Prince Hal, at Gad’s-hill. We have some¬ 
times seen a sapient, sleepy fellow, on being tickled with 
a straw, make a furious effort, and fancy he had fairly 
caught a gnat in his grasp; so, that many-headed mon¬ 
ster, the public, who, with all its heads, is, we fear, sadly 
off for brains, has, after long hovering, come souse down, 
like a king-fisher, on the authors of Salmagundi, and 
caught them as certainly as the aforesaid honest fellow 
caught the gnat. 

Would that we were rich enough to give every one of 
our numerous readers a cent, as a reward for their inge¬ 
nuity! Not that they have really conjectured within a 
thousand leagues of the truth, but that we consider it a 
great stretch of ingenuity even to have guessed wrong; 
and that we hold ourselves much obliged to them for 
having taken the trouble to guess at all. 

One of the most tickling, dear, mischievous pleasures 
of this life is to laugh in one’s sleeve—to sit snug in the 
corner, unnoticed and unknown, and hear the wise men 
of Gotham, who are profound judges of horse-flesh, pro¬ 
nounce, from the style of our work, who are the authors. 
This listening incog., and receiving a hearty praising 
over another man’s back, is a situation so celestially 


INCOG. 


85 


whimsical, that we have done little else than laugh in 
our sleeve ever since our first number was published. 

The town has at length allayed the titillations of curi¬ 
osity, by fixing on two young gentlemen of literary tal¬ 
ents—that is to say, they are equal to the composition of 
a newspaper squib, a hodgepodge criticism, or some such 
trifle, and may occasionally raise a smile by their effu¬ 
sions ; but pardon us, sweet sirs, if we modestly doubt 
your capability of supporting the burden of Salmagundi, oi 
of keeping up a laugh for a whole fortnight, as we have 
done, and intend to do, until the whole town becomes a 
community of laughing philosophers like ourselves. We 
have no intention, however, of undervaluing the abilities 
of these two young men, whom we verily believe, accord¬ 
ing to common acceptation, young men of promise. 

Were we ill-natured, we might publish something that 
would get our representatives into difficulties; but far 
be it from us to do anything to the injury of persons to 
whom we are under such obligations. 

While they stand before us, we, like little Teucer, 
behind the sevenfold shield of Ajax, can launch unseen 
our sportive arrows, which, we trust, will never inflict a 
wound, unless, like his, they fly, “ heaven-directed,” to 
some conscience-struck bosom. 

Another marvelous great source of pleasure to us is 
the abuse our work has received from several wooden 
gentlemen, whose censures we covet more than ever we 
did anything in our lives. The moment we declared 


86 


SALMAGUNDI, 


open war against folly and stupidity, we expected to re¬ 
ceive no quarter; and to provoke a confederacy of all the 
blockheads in town. For it is one of our indisputable 
facts, that so sure as you catch a gander by the tail, the 
whole flock, geese, goslings, one and all, have a fellow- 
feeling on the occasion, and begin to cackle and hiss like 
so many devils bewitched. As we have a profound re¬ 
spect for these ancient and respectable birds, on the 
score of their once saving the Capitol, we hereby declare 
that we mean no offense whatever by comparing them to 
the aforesaid confederacy. We have heard, in our 
walks, such criticism on Salmagundi as almost induced 
a belief that folly had here, as in the East, her moments 
of inspired idiotism. Every silly royster has, as if by an 
instinctive sense of anticipated danger, joined in the cry, 
and condemned us without mercy. All is thus as it 
should be. It would have mortified us very sensibly had 
we been disappointed in this particular, as we should 
then have been apprehensive that our shafts had fallen 
to the ground, innocent of the “ blood or brains ” of a 
single numskull. Our efforts have been crowned with 
wonderful success. All the queer fish, the grubs, the 
flats, the noddies, and the live-oak and timber gentle¬ 
men, are pointing their empty guns at us ; and we are 
threatened with a most puissant confederacy of the ‘‘ pig¬ 
mies and cranes,” and other “ light militia,” backed by 
the heavy-armed artillery of dullness and stupidity. 
The veriest dreams of our most sanguine moments are 


POETICAL INTENTIONS. 


87 


thus realized. We have no fear of the censures of the 
wise, the good, or the fair, for they will ever be sacred 
from our attacks. We reverence the wise, love the good, 
and adore the fair; we declare ourselves champions in 
their cause—in the cause of morality—and we throw our 
gauntlet to all the world besides. 

While we profess and feel the same indifference to 
public applause as at first, we most earnestly invite the 
attacks and censures of all the wooden warriors of this 
sensible city; and especially of that distinguished and 
learned body, heretofore celebrated under the appella¬ 
tion of “ The North River Society.” The thrice valiant 
and renowned Don Quixote never made such work 
amongst the wool-clad warriors of Trapoban, or the pup¬ 
pets of the itinerant showman, as we promise to make 
among these fine fellows ; and we pledge ourselves to the 
public in general, and the Albany skippers in particular, 
that the North River shall not be set on fire this winter 
at least, for we shall give the authors of that nefarious 
scheme ample employment for some time to come. 


PROCLAMATION, FROM THE MILL OF PINDAR COCiCLOPT, 


ESQ. 



lO all the young belles who enliven our scene, 


From ripe five-and-forty, to blooming fifteen ; 
Who racket at routs, and who rattle at plays. 

Who visit, and fidget, and dance out their days ; 



88 


SALMAGUNDI, 


Who conquer all hearts with a shot from the eye. 

Who freeze with a frown, and who thaw with a sigh :— 

To all those bright youths who embellish the age, 

Whether young boys or old boys, or numskull or sage : 
Whether bull dogs, who cringe at their mistress’s feet. 

Who sigh and who whine, and who try to look sweet; 
Whether tough dogs, who squat down stock still in a row 
And play wooden gentlemen stuck up for a show ; 

Or SAD DOGS, who glory in running their rigs. 

Now dash in their sleighs, and now whirl in their gigs ; 

Who riot at Dyde’s * on imperial champagne. 

And then scour our city—the peace to maintain ; 

To whoe’er it concerns or may happen to meet. 

By these presents their worships I lovingly greet, 

Now Kisrow YE, that I, Pindar Cockloft, Esquire, 

Am laureate, appointed at special desire ; 

A censor, self-dubbed, to admonish the fair. 

And tenderly take the town under my care. 

I’m a ci-devant beau, cousin Launcelot has said— 

A remnant of habits long vanished and dead : 

But still, though my heart dwells with rapture sublime. 

On the fashions and customs which reign’d in my prime, 

I yet can perceive—and still candidly praise. 

Some maxims and manners of these “latter days 
Still own that some wisdom and beauty appears. 

Though almost entombed in the rubbish of years. 

* Dyde’s public-house was in Park Row. It was brought into notice by 
a famous coalition supper of the Burrites and Clintonians. A pamphlet 
was published giving an account of the Dyde Supper. 


POETICAL INTENTIONS. 


89 


No fierce nor tyrannical cynic am I, 

Who frown on each foible I chance to espy; 

Who pounce on a novelty, just like a kite. 

And tear up a victim through malic^^ or spite ; 

Who expose to the scoffs of an ill-natured crew, 

A trembler for starting a whim that is new. 

No, no—I shall cautiously hold up my glass, 

To the sweet little blossoms who heedlessly pass; 

My remarks not too pointed to wound or offend. 

Nor so vague as to miss their benevolent end : 

Each innocent fashion shall have its full sway; 

New modes shall arise to astonish Broadway : 

Red hats and red shawls still illumine the town. 

And each belle, like a bon-fire, blaze up and down. 

Fair spirits who brighten the gloom of our days. 

Who cheer this dull scene with your heavenly rays. 

No mortal can love you more firmly and true. 

From the crown of the head to the sole of your shoe. 

I’m old-fashioned, ’tis true,—but still runs in my heart 
That affectionate stream, to which youth gave the start. 
More calm in its current—yet potent in force ; 

Less ruffled by gales—but still steadfast in course. 
Though the lover, enraptured, no longer appears,— 

’Tis the guide and the guardian enlightened by years. 
All ripen’d and mellow’d and soften’d by time. 

The asperities polish’d which chafed in my prime ; 

I’m fully prepared for that delicate end. 

The fair one’s instructor, companion, and friend. 


90 


SALMAOUNDI. 


—And should I perceive you in fashion’s gay dance. 
Allured by the frippery-mongers of France, 

Expose your weak frames to a chill wintry sky 
To he nipp’d by its frosts, to be torn from the eye; 

My soft admonitions shall fall on your ear— 

Shall whisper those parents to whom you are dear— 
Shall warn you of hazards you heedlessly run. 

And sing of those fair ones whom frost has undone. 
Bright suns that would scarce on our horizon dawn, 

Ere shrouded from sight, they were early withdrawn; 
Gay sylphs, who have floated in circles below. 

As pure in their souls, and as transient as snow ; . 
Sweet roses, that bloom’d and decay’d to my eye. 

And of forms that have flitted and passed to the sky. 

But as to those brainless pert bloods of our town. 

Those sprigs of the ton who run decency down; 

Who lounge and who lout, and who booby about. 

No knowledge within, and no manners without; 

Who stare at each beauty with insolent eyes ; 

Who rail at those morals their fathers would prize *, 

Who are loud at the play—and who impiously dare 
To come in their cups to the routs of the fair; 

I shall hold up my mirror, to let them survey 

The flgures they cut as they dash it away t 

Should my good-humored verse no amendment produce. 

Like scarecrows, at least, they shall still be of use \ 

I shall stitch them, in effigy, up in my rhyme. 

And hold them aloft through the progress of time, 


DR. CHRISTOPHER COSTIVE. 


91 


As figures of fun to make the folks laugh, 

Like that queer-looking angel erected by Paff, 

What shtop,” as he says, ^‘all de people what come; 
What smiles on dem all, and what peats on de trum.” 


—“ How now, mooncalf ? ” 


E have been congratulating ourselves exceedingly 



^ ’ on having, at length, attracted the notice of a pon¬ 
derous genius of this city, Dr. Christopher Costive, 
LL.D., etc., who has spoken of us in such a manner that 
we are ten times better pleased than ever we were be¬ 
fore. It shall never be said of us, that we have been out¬ 
done in the way of complimenting, and we therefore 
assure Dr. Christopher Costive that, for a Yankee doodle 
song, about “ Sister Tabitha,” “ our Cow,” and “dandy,” 
and “ sugar-candy,” and all these jokes of truly Eastern 
saltness, we know no man more “ cute ” than himself. 

If Dr. Costive should find fault with having nothing 
but whipt syllabub from us, we promise him that, if cir¬ 
cumstances render it necessary, we will occasionally give 
it a little variety by whipping him up in it as completely 
as ever a dish of ass’s milk was whipt up in this world. 
Our friend seems rather vociferous in his demand for a 
dish of “flummery,” and as such a dish is not in our bill 
of fare, we immediately requested our publisher to pro¬ 
cure us one that would suit our friend’s appetite. He 



92 


SALMAGUNDI. 


has brought us “ Democracy Unveiled, or Tyranny strip¬ 
ped of the garb of Patriotism,” by Christopher Costive, 
LL.D. etc., etc., etc., etc., etc., etc. We can now promise 
our friend to serve him up a plentiful dish of flummery 
from his own shop, whenever he thinks fit to demand it, 
and garnished with a little Salmagundi for sauce. We 
hope he will not behave like his prototype. Dr. Lam- 
pedo, and gag at his own ‘‘ patent draught.” 

Our respected friend appears a little worried that we 
do not write for money. Now this looks ill of Dr. Cos¬ 
tive—not that we thereby mean to insinuate that Dr. 
Costive is an ill-looking personage; on the contrary, we 
think him a great poet, a very great poet, the greatest 
poet of the age, and, considering the excessive gravity of 
his person, we are the more astonished at the sublime 
flights of his fat fancy. To convince him that we are dis¬ 
posed to befriend him all in our power, we take this 
opportunity to inform our numerous readers that there 
is such a man as Dr. Christopher Costive, and that he 
publishes a weakly paper, called the ^‘Weekly Inspector,” 
somewhere in this city, and that he writes for money.* 

* The “Weekly Inspector,’’here alluded to, was a neatly printed oc¬ 
tavo journal, chiefly political, conducted by Thomas Green Fessenden. 
It was commenced Aug. 30, 1806, and was published in New York by 
Ezra Sargent, 39 Wall Street, with the motto from Hamilton: “ Of those 
men who have overturned the liberties of republics, the greater number 
have begun their career by paying an obsequious court to the people- 
commencing demagogues and ending tyrants.” 

Feb. 7, 1807, a fortnight after its publication, Fessenden notices Sal¬ 
magundi, a “ new literary publication,” with an opening fling or two at 


DR. CAUSTIC’S RAVINGS. 


93 


We, therefore, advise “everybody, man, woman, and child, 
that can read, or get anybody to read for them, to pur¬ 
chase his paper,” where they will find the true “bubble 
and squeak,” and “topsy-turvy,” which Dr. Costive will 
at any time exchange for money. 

Upon the whole, we consider him a very modest, de¬ 
cent, good-looking big man, who writes for money; being 
but “half a fish and half a monster.” 

the club of wits who profess themselves supremely indifferent to the re¬ 
ception of their work. In the next number but one of the “Inspector” 
the attack is followed up by an article— “ Salmagundi — alias Bubble 
AND Squeak —again.” In reply to the notice of the former which had ap¬ 
peared in the interim in Salmagundi, Christopher Caustic raves in his ex¬ 
traordinary slang at these “ frothy productions.” “ The disease,” he says, 
“is becoming epidemic, the fever rising to frenzy, spreading from fool to 
fool; a numberless number of nameless names have already eaught the 
infection, and from one end of the town to the other, all is nonsense and 
‘Salmagundi.’” lie calls it “a mere hodge-podge of train oil and gar¬ 
lic, instead of ‘Salmagundi.’ .... This is, in English, a ‘gibe 
cat,’ smothered in onions and eaten with fennel, rue, and caraway seed. 
In fact, there was one Pluddesford, an English wit, who wrote a poem 
with that are title, which this worst of wizards may have purloined in 
some of their rambles, and thus gained a legal claim to the wit it con¬ 
tains. ” He proposes, to his own great delight, “ Silly-kickaby as a sub¬ 
stitute for “ Salmagundi.” “ Having despatched ‘ Salmagundi ’ or Silly- 
kickaby, we come next to ‘ Whim whams and Opinions.’ What a broken- 
backed metaphor I It is as bad as to have christened your nonsense Apple 
Dumpling; or Flights of Fancy. 

‘ Atqiie idem junRat vnlpee 
Et mulgeat hircos 


That is, in English:— 

This sorry set of silly ehoats, 

Should be employed to milk he-goats. 
Or sent to Carolina bogs. 

To yoke ox-teams of prairie dogs. 


94 


SALMAGUNDI. 


‘ Whimwhams ’ is taken by this junto of notables from an English publi« 
cation. Launcelot Langstaff is a vile daub of a caricature of Isaac Bick- 
erstaff. Will Honeycomb sat for Anthony Evergreen; Will Wizard’s 
original may be found in the British classics; and, in short, the prototype 
of every other character, with the exception of a few scurrilous person¬ 
alities. The work ought to have been styled Silly-Mckdby, alias Tag- 
locks of common English Publications, compiled by Dunderpate, Dough- 
head, Dumpling and Co., published by Peter Pettyman, sold at the sign 
of the Ditch delving driveller, Caughnawaugher Slip, dedicated, and to 
be devoted, to a certain goddess.” The Doctor ends with abusing the 
metre of Pindar Cockloft, and then asserting that it was stolen from 
‘ ‘ Dr. Caustic’s nick-nackatory. ” 

We shall see in a future number how the Doctor’s literary billingsgate 
was followed up in Salmagundi. The “ Weekly Inspector” replies in the 
small shot of a handful of “squibs” in his number for March 6, leveled 
at “the lilliputian journal,” alluding to the small page of the original 
edition of Salmagundi, and the war dies out. 

The “Inspector” makes his exit at the close of his second volume, 
Aug. 22, 1807. 

These mutual random hits and editorial discourtesies of a type too 
common in the annals of literature—these quarrels of authors—should be 
remembered for what they were, the passing nonsense of the hour. 
Thomas Green Fessenden, notwithstanding this nonsensical raving, was 
a man of mark and merit—not only of humor and spirit in the comic 
verses with which he enlivened the newspaper discussions of his day, but 
to be held in memory for his more sober labors in the cause of agriculture. 
There is a very pleasing reminiscence of his later years—he died at the 
age of sixty-six in 1837—by Nathaniel Hawthorne, in which he celebrates 
“the amiable temper and abstracted habits ” of his old friend. 


NO. lY.—TUESDAY, FEBRUAKY 24, 1807. 


FROM MY ELBOW-CHAIR. 

ERHAPS there is no class of men to which the 
curious and literary are more indebted than 
travellers—I mean travel-mongers, who write 
whole volumes about themselves, their horses, and their 
servants, interspersed with anecdotes of innkeepers, droll 
sayings of stage-drivers, and interesting memoirs of—the 
Lord knows who. They will give you a full account of 
a city, its manners, customs, and manufactures; though 
perhaps all their knowledge of it was obtained by a peep 
from their inn-windows, and an interesting conversation 
with the landlord or the waiter. America has had its 
share of these buzzards; and in the name of my country¬ 
men I return them profound thanks for the compliments 
they have lavished upon us, and the variety of particu¬ 
lars concerning our own country, which we should never 
have discovered without their assistance. 

Influenced by such sentiments, I am delighted to find 
that the Cockloft family, among its other whimsical and 
monstrous productions, is about to be enriched with a 
genuine travel-writer. This is no less a personage than 

95 






96 


SALMAGUNDI. 


Mr. Jeremy Cockloft, the only son and darling pride of 
my cousin, Mr. Christopher Cockloft. I should have 
said Jeremy Cockloft, the younger^ as he so styles him¬ 
self, by way of distinguishing him from II Signore 
Jeremy Cockloftico, a gouty old gentleman who flour¬ 
ished about the time that Pliny the elder was smoked 
to death with the fire and brimstone of Vesuvius ; and 
whose travels, if he ever wrote any, are now lost forever 
to the world. Jeremy is now in his one-and-twentieth 
year, and a young fellow of wonderful quick parts, if you 
will trust to the word of his father, who, having begot¬ 
ten him, should be the best judge of the matter. He is 
the oracle of the family, dictates to his sisters on every 
occasion, though they are some dozen or more years 
older than himself—and never did son give mother bet¬ 
ter advice than Jeremy. 

As old Cockloft was determined his son should be 
both a scholar and a gentleman, he took great pains with 
his education, which was completed at our university, 
where he became exceedingly expert in quizzing his 
teachers and playing billiards. No student made better 
squibs and crackers to blow up the chemical professor; 
no one chalked more ludicrous caricatures on the walls 
of the college; and none were more adroit in shaving 
pigs and climbing lightning-rods. He moreover learned 
all the letters of the Greek alphabet; could demonstrate 
that water never, “of its own accord,” rose above the 
level of its source, and that air was certainly the prin- 


JEREMY COCKLOFT. 


97 


ciple of life; for lie had been entertained with the hu¬ 
mane experiment of a cat worried to death in an air- 
pump. He once shook down the ash-house, by an 
artificial earthquake; and nearly blew his sister Barbara 
and her cat out of the window with thundering powder. 
He likewise boasts exceedingly of being thoroughly ac¬ 
quainted with the composition of Lacedemonian black 
broth; and once made a pot of it, which had well-nigh 
poisoned the whole family, and actually threw the cook- 
maid into convulsions. But above all, he values himself 
upon his logic, has the old college conundrum of the cat 
with three tails at his fingers’ ends, and often hampers 
his father with his syllogisms, to the great delight of the 
old gentleman; who considers the major, minor, and con¬ 
clusion, as almost equal in argument to the pulley, the 
wedge, and the lever, in mechanics. In fact, my cousin 
Cockloft was once nearly annihilated with astonishment, 
on hearing Jeremy trace the derivation of Mango from 
Jeremiah King—as, Jeremiah King, Jerry King! Jerking, 
Girkin I cucumber. Mango! In short, had Jeremy been 
a student at Oxford or Cambridge, he would, in all prob¬ 
ability, been promoted to the dignity of a senior wrangler. 
By this sketch I mean no disparagement to the abilities 
of other students of our college, for I have no doubt that 
every commencement ushers into society luminaries full 
as brilliant as Jeremy Cockloft^ the younger. 

Having made a very pretty speech on graduating, to a 
numerous assemblage of old folks and young ladies, who 
7 


bALMAGUNBL 


all declared that he was a very fine young man, and made 
very handsome gestures, Jeremy was seized with a great 
desire to see, or rather to be seen, by the world; and as 
his father was anxious to give him every possible ad¬ 
vantage, it was determined Jeremy should visit foreign 
parts. In consequence of this resolution, he has spent a 
matter of three or four months in visiting strange places; 
and in the course of his travels has tarried some few 
days at the splendid metropolis’ of Albany and Philadel¬ 
phia. 

Jeremy has travelled as every modern man of sense 
should do; that is, he judges of things by the sample 
next at hand; if he has ever any doubt on a subject, 
always decides against the city where he happens to so¬ 
journ; and invariably takes home, as the standard by 
which to direct his judgment. 

Going into his room the other day, when he happened 
to be absent, I found a manuscript volume lying on his 
table; and was overjoyed to find it contained notes and 
hints for a book of travels which he intends publishing. 
He seems to have taken a late fashionable travel-monger 
for his model, and I have no doubt his work will be 
equally instructive and amusing with that of his proto¬ 
type. The following are some extracts, which may not 
prove uninteresting to my readers. 


THE STRANGER IN NEW JERSEY. 


99 


MEMORANDUMS FOR A TOUR TO BE ENTITLED “THE 
STRANGER IN NEW JERSEY; OR, COCKNEY TRAVELLING.”* 

BY JEEEMY COCKLOFT, THE YOUNGER. 

CHAPTER I. 

^ i ^HE man in the moon t—preparations for departure— 
hints to travellers about packing their trunks J — 
straps, buckles, and bed-cords—case of pistols, d la cock¬ 
ney —five trunks, three bandboxes, a cocked hat, and a 
medicine chest, d la Fran(;aise —parting advice of my two 
sisters—quere, why old maids are so particular in their 
cautions against naughty women—description of Powles- 
Hook ferry-boats—might be converted into gun-boats, 
and defend our ports equally well with Albany sloops— 

* It is not a little singular, that this mode of ridiculing the gossiping 
productions of Sir John Carr, and other tourists of the day, should have 
been successfully adopted almost at the same moment by two writers 
placed in different and distant quarters of the globe. My Pockef-Book 
appeared in London only two or three weeks after the publication of these 
“ Memorandums” in New York—so that neither writer could possibly 
have borrowed from the other—and by its ingenious pleasantry and poig¬ 
nant satire, crushed a whole host of book-making tourists, with the luck¬ 
less knight at their head.—Pam Ed. This matter is again referred to 
at the close of No. XIII. 

f Vide Carr’s Stranger in Ireland. John Carr, Esq., of the Honorable 
Society of the Middle Temple, wrote several slip-slop entertaining books 
of travel, A Northern Summer, The Stranger in France, and The 
Stronger in Ireland, a Toiir in 1805. The last appears to have been 
popular in America. It reached its third edition from the New York 
press of Riley, this very year, 1807. 

X Vide Weld. Isaac Weld travelled through the United States in 1795-7. 


L.cfC. 


100 


SALMAGUNDI. 


Brom the black ferryman—Charon—river Styx—ghosts; 
—Major Hunt—good story—ferriage ninepence ;—city oj 
Harsimus—built on the spot where the folk once danced 
on their stumps, while the devil fiddled—quere, why do 
the Harsimites talk Dutch ?—story of the Tower of Ba¬ 
bel, and confusion of tongues—get into the stage—driver 
a wag—famous fellow for running stage races—killed 
three passengers and crippled nine in the course of his 
practice—philosophical reasons why stage-drivers love 
grog—causeway—ditch on each side for folk to tumble 
into—famous place for skilly-pots; Philadelphians call ’em 
tarapins—roast them under the ashes as we do potatoes— 
quere, may not this be the reason that the Philadelphi¬ 
ans are all turtle - heads ?—Hackensack bridge — good 
painting of a blue horse jumping over a mountain—won¬ 
der who it was painted by;—mem. to ask the Baron dk 
Gnsto about it on my return ;—Eattlesnake Hill, so called 
from abounding with butterflies ;—salt marsh, surmounted 
here and there by a solitary hay-stack—more tarapins— 
wonder why the Philadelphians don’t establish a fishery 
here, and get a patent for it—bridge over the Passaic— 
rate of toll—description of toll-boards—tollman had but 
one eye—story how it is possible he may have lost the 
other—pence-table, etc.* 


♦ Vide Carr, 


DE OMNIBUS REBUS. 


101 


CHAPTER n. 

Newark —noted for its fine breed of fat mosquitoes— 
sting through the thickest boots *—story about Gallynip- 
pers —Archy Gifford and his man Caliban—jolly fat fel¬ 
lows—a knowing traveller always judges of everything 
by the innkeepers and waiters t—set down Newark peo¬ 
ple all fat as butter—learned dissertation on Archy Gif¬ 
ford’s green coat, with philosophical reasons why the 
Newarkites wear red worsted nightcaps, and turn their 
noses to the south when the wind blows—Newark acad¬ 
emy full of windows—sunshine excellent to make little 
boys grow—Elizabethtown—fine girls—vile mosquitoes 
—plenty of oysters—quere, have oysters any feeling ?— 
good story about the fox catching them by his tail—ergo, 
foxes might be of great use in the pearl fishery—landlord 
member of the legislature—treats everybody who has a 
vote—mem. all the innkeepers members of the legislature 
in New Jersey; Bridge-town, vulgarly called Spank-town, 

* Vide Weld. “General Washington,” says Weld, “told me that he 
never was so much annoyed by mosquitoes in any part of America, as in 
Skenesborough, for that they used to bite through the thickest boot.” 

f Vide Carr ; vide Moore ; vide Weld ; vide Parkinson ; vide Priest. 
Richard Parkinson, late of Orange Hill, near Baltimore, published in 
London, 1805, his tour in America, in 1798-1800, exhibiting sketches of 
Society and Manners, and a particular account of the American system of 
agriculture, etc. William Priest, who signs himself on the title-page 
of his book, “ Musician, late of the theatres Philadelphia, Baltimore, and 
Boston,” travelled in the United States between the years 1793 and 1797, 
and published his journals in London, in a thin octavo in 1802. Vide 
Linkuin Fidelius, and vide Messrs. Tag, Rag, and Bobtail. 


102 


8ALMAOUNDL 


from a story of quondam parson and his wife—real name, 
according to Linkum Fidelius, Bridge-town, from bridge, 
a contrivance to get dry-shod over a river or brook; and 
town, an appellation given in America to the accidental 
assemblage of a church, a tavern, and a blacksmith’s 
shop—Linkum as right as my left leg;—Eahway Kiver 
—good place for gun-boats—wonder why Mr. Jefferson 
don’t send a river fleet here, to protect the hay vessels ?— 
Woodbridge—landlady mending her husband’s breeches 
—sublime apostrophe to conjugal affection and the fair 
sex;*—Woodbridge famous for its crab-fishery—senti¬ 
mental correspondence between a crab and a lobster—- 
digression to Abelard and Eloisa;—mem. when the moon 
is in Pisces, she plays the devil with the crabs. 

CHAPTER III. 

Brunswick —oldest town in the State—division line 
between two counties in the middle of the street;—posed 
a lawyer with the case of a man standing with one foot 
in each county—wanted to know in which he was domicil 
—lawyer couldn’t tell for the soul of him;—mem. all the 
New Jersey lawyers nums; —Miss Hay’s boarding-school 
—young ladies not allowed to eat mustard—and why ?— 
fat story of a mustard-pot, with a good saying of Ding- 
Dong’s;—Vernon’s tavern—fine place to sleep, if the 
noise would let you—another Caliban!—^Vernon slew- 


* Vide the Sentimental Kotzebue. 


ET QUIBUSDAM ALII8. 


103 


eyed—people of Brunswick, of course, all squint;— 
Drake’s tavern—fine old blade—wears square buckles 
in his shoes—tells bloody long stories about last war— 
people, of course, all do the same;—Hook’em Snivy, 
the famous fortune-teller, born here—contemporary with 
Mother Shoulders—particulars of his history—died one 
day—lines to his memory, which found their way into my 
pocket-hook;'*' —melancholy reflections on the death of 
great men—beautiful epitaph on myself. 

CHAPTER IV. 

Princeton— college — professors wear boots !— students 
famous for their love of a jest—set the college on fire, 
and burned out the professors; an excellent joke, but not 
worth repeating—mem. American students very much 
addicted to burning down colleges—reminds me of a 
good story, nothing at all to the purpose—two societies 
in the college—good notion—encourages emulation, and 
makes little boys fight;—students famous for their eat¬ 
ing and erudition—saw two at the tavern, who had just 
got their allowance of spending money—laid it all out in 
a supper, got fuddled, and d—d the professors for nin- 
coms. N. B. Southern gentlemen—church-yard—apos- 

* Vide Carr and Blind Bet. Carr, in his travels, meets on the roadside 
in Wales a stone-blind woman, supporting herself and infirm mother by 
the sale of gloves and stockings. The traveller perpetrates some verses 
on the occasion, which he introduces in this ludicrous fashion : “Upon 
her quitting us, the following lines found their way into my pocket- 
book 1 ” 


104 


SALMAGUNDI. 


trophe to grim death—saw a cow feeding on a grave- 
metempsychosis—who knows but the cow may have been 
eating up the soul of one of my ancestors—made me 
melancholy and pensive for fifteen minutes;—man plant¬ 
ing cabbages*—wondered how he could plant them so 
straight—method of mole-catching—and all that—quere, 
whether it would not be a good notion to ring their 
noses as we do pigs’—mem. to propose it to the Ameri¬ 
can Agricultural Society—get a premium, perhaps—com¬ 
mencement—students give a ball and supper—company 
from New York, Philadelphia, and Albany—great contest 
which spoke the best English—Albanians vociferous in 
their demand for sturgeon—Philadelphians gave the pref¬ 
erence to raccoon t and splacnuncs—gave them a long 
dissertation on the phlegmatic nature of a goose’s giz¬ 
zard—students can’t dance—always set off with the 
wrong foot foremost—Duport’s opinion on that subject— 
Sir Christopher Hatton the first man who ever turned 
out his toes in dancing—favorite with Queen Bess on 
that account—Sir Walter Baleigh—good story about his 
smoking—his descent into New Spain—El Dorado—Can- 
dide—Dr. Pangloss—Miss Cunegunde—earthquake at 

* Vide Carr. 

t Vide Priest. “At two,” says Priest, “the Philadelphians dine on 
what is usual in England, both a variety of American dishes, such as 
bear, opossum, raccoon, etc.! ” 

X Gulliver is announced by the town-crier in Brobdingnag as “ a strange 
creature to be seen at the sign of the Green Eagle, not so big as a splac- 
nuck, an animal in that country very finely shaped, about six feet long.” 


FURTHER ADVENTURES. 


105 


Lisbon—Baron of Tliundertentronck"—Jesuits—Monks 
—Cardinal Woolsey—Pope Joan—Tom Jefferson—Tom 

Paine, and Tom the - whew! N. B. Students got 

drunk as usual. 


CHAPTER V. 

Left Princeton—country finely diversified with sheep 
and hay-stacks t—saw a man riding alone in a wagon ! 
why the deuce didn’t the blockhead ride in a chair? fel¬ 
low must be a fool—particular account of the construc¬ 
tion of wagons, carts, wheelbarrows, and quail-traps—saw 
a large flock of crows—concluded there must be a dead 
horse in the neighborhood—mem. country remarkable 
for crows—won’t let the horses die in peace—anecdote 
of a jury of crows—stopped to give the horses water— 
good-looking man came up and asked me if I had seen 
his wife ? heavens 1 thought I, how strange it is that this 
virtuous man should ask me about his wife—story of 
Cain and Abel—stage-driver took a swig —mem. set down 
all the people as drunkards—old house had moss on the 
top—swallows built in the roof—better place than old 
men’s beards—story about that—derivation of words 
hippyy hippyy hippyy and slioo-pigX —negro driver could 
not write his own name—languishing state of literature 

* Jeremy Cockloft appears, in this enumeration, to have come from a 
recent perusal of Voltaire’s Candide. 

f Vide Carr. 

t Vide Carr’s learned derivation of gee and whoa. 


106 


SALMAGUNDI. 


in this country;* philosophical inquiry of ’Sbidlikens, 
why the Americans are so much inferior to the nobility 
of Cheapside and Shoreditch, and why they do not eat 
plum-pudding on Sundays—superfine reflections about 
anything. 

CHAPTER VI. 

Trenton —built above the head of navigation to encour¬ 
age commerce—capital of the State—only wants a castle, 
a bay, a mountain, a sea, and a volcano, to bear a strong 
resemblance to the Bay of Naples t—supreme court sit¬ 
ting—fat chief justice—used to get asleep on the bench 
after dinner—gave judgment, I suppose, like Pilate’s 
wife, from his dreams—reminded me of Justice Bridle- 
goose deciding by a throw of a die, and of the oracle of 
the holy bottle :j:— attempted to kiss the chambermaid — 
* Moore :— 

“ Is this the region then, is this the clime 
For soaring fancies ? for those dreams sublime. 

Which all their miracles of light reveal 
To heads that meditate and hearts that feel ? 

Alas ! not so—the Muse of nature lights 

Her glories round ; she scales the mountain heights, 

And roams the forests ; every wondrous spot 
Burns with her step, yet man regards it not. 

She whispers round, her words are in the air, 

But lost, unheard, they linger freezing there, 

Without one breath of soul, divinely strong, 

One ray of mind, to thaw them into song.” 

—Epistle to the Hon. TP. R. Spencer, from Buffalo, upon Lake Erie, 
f Carr. 

t Rabelais’ Judge Bridlegoose and famous Oracle. There was a slight 
difficulty in the Judge’s method of decision, “ he was become old, and his 
sight of late was very much failed, and become dimmer than it was wont 


OF 8TXmaE0N8. 


107 


boxed my ears till they rung like our theatre-bell—girl 
had lost one tooth—mem. all the American ladies prudes, 
and have bad teeth; Anacreon Moore’s opinion on the 
matter. State-house—fine place to see the sturgeons 
jump up—query, whether sturgeons jump up by an im¬ 
pulse of the tail, or whether they bounce up from the 
bottom by the elasticity of their noses ? Linkum Fide- 
lius of the latter opinion—I too—sturgeon’s nose capital 
for tennis-balls—learnt that at school—went to a ball— 
negro wench principal musician! N. B. People of Amer¬ 
ica have no fiddlers but females!—origin of the phrase, 
“fiddle of your heart”—reasons why men fiddle better 
than women; expedient of the Amazons, who were expert 
at the bow; waiter at the city tavern—good story of his 
—nothing to the purpose—never mind—fill up my book 
like Carr—make it sell. Saw a democrat get into a stage 
followed by his dog.* N. B. This town remarkable for 
dogs and democrats—supei-fine sentiment t —good story 
from Joe Miller—ode to a piggin of butter—pensive 
meditations on a mouse-hole—make a book as clear as a 
whistle! 


FKOM MY ELBOW-CHAIR. 


T" HAVE observed a particular intimacy for these few 
days past between that dry wag, Will Wizard, and 

•o be; by reason of which infirmity he was not able so distinctly and 
clearly to discern the points of the dice, as formerly he had been accus¬ 
tomed to do.” 


* Moore. 


t Carr. 



108 


SALMAGUNDI. 


my cousin Pindar. The latter has taken his winter quar¬ 
ters at old Cockloft’s, in the corner room opposite mine, 
in order to be at hand and overlook the town. They 
hardly gave themselves time, on Sunday last, to wait 
for the family toast of “ our absent friends,” before they 
adjourned to Pindar’s chamber. In the course of an 
hour my cousin’s enormous mandarin inkstand was sent 
down to be replenished. I began to be seriously alarmed, 
for I thought if they had exhausted its* contents without 
exhausting their subject, there was no knowing where it 
would end. 

On returning to tea, my cousin Pindar was observed to 
rub his hands, a sure sign that something tickled his 
fancy; he, however, maintained as mysterious a counte¬ 
nance as a Seventh Ward politician. As to Will Wizard, 
he took longer strides than usual, his inflexible phiz had 
an uncommonly knowing air, and a sagacious wink occa¬ 
sionally betrayed that he had more in his head than he 
chose to communicate. The whole family (who in truth 
are much given to ivonder at everything) were sadly 
puzzled to conjecture what their two precious noddles 
had been bothering about. 

In the evening, after I had retreated to my citadel, the 
elbow-chair, I was surprised by the abrupt entrance of 
these two worthies. My cousin opened the budget at 
once: he declared that it was as necessary for a modern 
poet to have an assistant, as for Don Quixote to have a 
Sancho—that it was the fashion for poets, nowadays, to 


A ROD IN PICKLE. 


lOP 


write so ineffably obscure, that every line required a 
page of notes to explain its meaning, and render its 
“darkness visible”—that a modern poem could no more 
succeed without notes, than a paper kite could fly with¬ 
out a tail. In a word, Pegasus had become a most 
mulish animal, and would not budge a foot, unless he 
lumbered along a cart-load of quotations and explana¬ 
tions, and illustrations at his heels: he had therefore pre¬ 
vailed on Will Wizard to assist him occasionally as an¬ 
notator and illustrator. As a specimen of their united 
labors, he handed me the following complimentary ode 
to that king of the buzzards. Dr. Christopher Costive, 
informing me that he had plenty more on hand whenever 
occasion required it. I had been rather surprised lately 
at the Doctor’s meddling with us, as he was sure of gain¬ 
ing more kicks than coppers in return; but I am told an 
ass loves to have his muzzle scratched with nettles. On 
expressing my surprise. Will informed me that it was all 
a sham battle; that he was very intimate with the Doc¬ 
tor, and could relate a thousand diverting anecdotes con¬ 
cerning him ; and that the Doctor, finding we were in 
want of a butt, had generously volunteered himself as 
our target. I wish him joy of his bargain. 

In the following poem it will be observed that, while 
my cousin Pindar tunes his pipe on the top of the page, 
Will Wizard worries away at his thorough bass below. 
The notes of a modern poem being like the sound of a 
French horn, bassoon, kettle-drum, and bass-viol, in our 


110 


SALMAGUNDI, 


orchestra, which make such a confounded racket, that 
they entirely drown the song; and no man, who has not 
the sublime ear of a connoisseur, can tell what the devil 
they’re playing. 


FLUMMERY. 


FROM THE MILL* OP PINDAR COCKLOFT, ESQ. 


B&ing a Poem with Notes, or rather Notes with a Poem; * in the marmer oj 


DOCTOR* CHRISTOPHER COSTIVE. 

“ Prick me Bull calf till he roars.” * 

Fahtaff. 

HE greatest ‘ poet of our day, 



From State of Maine to Louisiana;* 
The hero who did ’sist upon’t. 

He wouldn’t be deputy to Mr. Hunt; ’ 
Who rear’d a gallows for each elf, and 
Did for hangman his own self stand.* 

And made folks think it very odd, he 
Should turn Jack Ketch to everybody. 
The modern mounter of Pegasus, 

The clumsy jolter of Jackasses,® 

Who, now the poet’s dray horse starts on. 
Anon, the gibbet hurdle carts on. 

Now o’er a poem dozes happy, 

And next expertly draws the cap ; he 



FLUMMERY. 


Ill 


Who cares not though the world should know it 
That he’s half hangman, half a poet. 

Who gibbeted the knaves so knowing, 

That kept Democracy a-going, 

Hung his facsimile, famed Toney ” 

Pasquin, the friend of Mr. Hone. 

Who drags like snail his filthy slime 
Through many a ragged, hobbling rhyme. 

Then calls his billingsgate—sarcastic ! 

His drabbling doggerel—Hudibrastic ! 

[Good lack, my friends, ’twould make you soon** laugh. 
To see this jolter-headed moon-calf. 

From Hudibras his honors steal 
And break Sam Butler on the wheel.] ** 

With other things that I might tell ye on 
Performed by this rump-fed hellion ** 

—But not o’er long to dwell upon’t. 

This man as big as an elephant,*® 

This sweetest witling of the age,** 

This hero, hangman, critic, sage,*’ 

This poet of five hundred pound** 

Has come to grace our hapless town. 

And when he entered, every goose 
Began to cackle like the deuce ; 

The asses brayed to one another— 

'Twas plain—the creatures smelt a brother. 


112 


tiALMAOUNDL 


NOTES, BY WILLIAM WIZARD, ESQ. 

As we are not a little anxious to cultivate the intimacy so hap¬ 
pily commenced between the Doctor and ourselves, we feel bound in can¬ 
dor to confess the charge made against us, of having borrowed from him 
some of the phrases and ideas of our last number; and we justify ourselves 
by attributing it to our high regard for his talents: for what can be a greater 
proof of friendship, nowadays, than borrowing ? If we were his enemies, 
we might justify it by the old maxim of “ foiling the devil with his own 
weapons.” As to the “mill,” which the Doctor so vociferously claims, 
honest Pindar acknowledges that he borrowed the idea from the Doctor’s 
writings in general, for he never dipped in them without thinking of our 
nocturnal music-grinder, who continually grinds over and over the same 
sleepy tune of “ 0, hard is my fate! ” 

* Notes with a Poemi] Whatever merit may appear in this Poem, my 
friend Cockloft must own that it is entirely owing to his close adherence 
to his hig prototype. Dr. Caustic. The rhymes are generally borrowed 
from the Doctor’s own works, possessing all that quaintness, cute- 
less, and clumsiness, for which he is remarkable. As the lesser thing 
^should always depend upon the greater, we have rather inverted the 
usual title of such works, and made the poem minor. We recommend 
the Doctor’s mode of eominling a book to all the nums of the day—as an 
example, we instance his “Terrible Tractoration,” of which, as few buy, 
and still fewer read it (a proof that the town are not quite such fools as 
the Doctor would make them), we shall say little. The book was smoth¬ 
ered in notes, like a goose in onions—some ill-natured comics have as¬ 
serted that what little whim the work contained lay entirely in the notes, 
which we are sorry to say were not written by the Doctor; his poem might 
therefore be said to resemble the leg of a stool, dressed up with savory 
sauce: or, as the Doctor will understand it better, that famous dish called 
pumphin-pie, where, though i\i& pumpkin gives the name to the dish, yet 
the great skill of the cook is to hide the twang of it as much as possible 
with spice and sugar. 

3 Doctor.^ The Doctor, we are told, was not bred a physician ; nor was 
he indebted for his appellation to a gratuitous donation from any uni¬ 
versity, as Doctor of Laws—he was humorously so dubbed by his neigh¬ 
bors in Vermont, on account of having once benevolently physicked a sick 
hors©—his works bear testimony to his drenching abilities ; and we may 


FLUMMERY. 


113 


justly apply to him an unlucky epigram, written on a brother quack in 
physic and poetry : 

“ For physic and farces 
His equal there scarce is— 

His farces are physic— 

His physic a farce is.” 

^ Friclc Bull calf^ etc.'\ We had not the least expectation that our no¬ 
tice of Doctor Costive, in the last number, would have put him into such 
an indecent passion. Bless us, how he has roared I and like Falstaff not 
only roared but “ ran and roared ”— 

-“ unpack’d his heart with words, 

And fell a cursing—like a very drab I 
A scullion 1 ” 

He has given us a most wofid scolding through some eight or nine 
columns, and plainly proved that our work was not worth a fig, because 
“Salmagundi” had been heretofore given as a title to another work— 
Launcelot Langstaff was evidently copied from Isaac Bickerstaff, because 
they both ended with staff —“ Whim whams ” was the same as “Flim¬ 
flams ”—“ Will Wizard ” was taken from—the Lord knows where ; Win¬ 
try was accidentally misspelled or misprinted Wintery^ and “ Weakly ” 
was borrowed from his own Weakly productions. 0, Midas, Midas, how 
thine ears do loom through the fog of thy writings. When a man of the 
Doctor’s gumption can write nine columns against our work, and dis¬ 
cover no greater faults, we may well be vain—were we to criticise our 
own writings, they would stand a much poorer chance. In spite of the 
Doctor’s crustiness we still love him in our hearts—he may scold like an 
old woman, but we know it all arises from that excessive irritability com¬ 
mon to all men who have “ written a book,” and particularly a book of 
doggerel rhymes. We again assure him of our perfect good-will toward 
himself and his most amiable offspring, that delectable pair of twin 
brothers. Terrible Tractoration and Democracy Unveiled. May the whole 
world in general, and posterity in particular, know the proper distinction 
between Hudibrastic and Doggerel, and acquit the Doctor from the impu¬ 
tation meanly leveled against him by sundry nincoms of imitating Hudi- 
bras. We are soiTy that he should ever have been thought capable of de¬ 
scending to be a copyist, and we challenge the whole world to deny that 
the Doctor’s verse is doggerel, genuine, broken-winded, rickety doggerel, 
whatever his enemies may insist to the contrary. The Doctor’s waggery, 
8 



114 


SALMAGUNDI. 


however, like that of many other double-headed wits, seems often to have 
been taken by the wrong end. On the first appearance of his Terrible 
Tractoration, the critics were absolutely at a loss, such was the delicacy 
of his wit, to say whether he was the champion or opponent of Perkinism. 
Thus the Critical Review for 1803: “His real object cannot always 
be ascertained—we think him, however, the friend of the Tractors.” 
Either the Doctor or the critic must have been a dunderhead—we chari¬ 
tably suppose the critic. The Doctor afterward, like “ John-a-Gudgeon ” 
in the Pleader's Guide, explained, and his explanation proved so perfectly 
satisfactory that there were very few of the reviewers but could tell, or at 
least guess at his object. The fact was, the Doctor, good inoffensive soul, 
did not mean to attack anything—except common sense. We recommend 
this work as a soporific specimen of the Doctor’s skill in balderdash. 

^ Greatest poet.^ Great is sometimes a positive, sometimes a figurative 
term—as we say a great mam>, a great mountain, or when speaking of 
the Doctor, great man mountain —having no allusion here to the moun¬ 
tain which brought forth a mouse. When, however, we speak of the 
Doctor as a great man or great poet, we mean to be understood that he is 
some six feet six inches high—three feet across the shoulders, nine round 
the paunch—that he weighs about half a ton, and is withal most clumsily 
hung together. 

® Louisiana.^ Though we plume ourselves on adhering closely to the 
Doctor’s rhymes, yet we have taken the liberty of differing a little in the 
pronunciation of this word—the Doctor gives it in the true eastern dia¬ 
lect, Lousy-anee—but to give it a la Costive — 

“ Which late, ’tis said, in weather rainy. 

Was melted in Louisiana.” 

Again: for when the Doctor gets hold of a good rhyme, he is a 
‘ woundy ” toad for harping on it. 

“ But please his highness ship, I won’t 
Be deputy to Mr. Hunt: 

No—were it offered ’twould be vain, he 
Won’t catch me in Louisiana (or Lousy-anee ”). 

These two latter lines are truly as musical as marrowbones and cleavers, 
and remind us of that sweet couplet, by the Doctor’s rival, the inimitable 
Searson : 

“ From this seat I pass’d to Alexandria, 

And am pleased through rural scenes to wander.” 


Sear. Mount Yer 


FLUMMERY. 


115 


If our reader wishes for more specimens of the Doctor’s knack at 
rhyming, we’ll give him the oft-repeated tags of “rogues and dema¬ 
gogues,” “brewing and ruin,” “ wildering and children,” “women and 
common,” “trimming and women,” “ well-knows and fellows,” “com¬ 
parison and harass’d-em; ” together with an occasional mixture of those 
attic eastern jingles of “ dandy and handy’’and “sugar candy.” The 
Doctor and Searson’s poetic contest is similar to one that whilom took 
place between two honest tars (we beg the gentle Joe Miller’s pardon for 
borrowing an anecdote); one gave as prize couplet: 

“ As she slips she slides along, 

A faithful friend is hard to find.” 

But the other rhymester beat him all hollow by singing out, 

“ My quart pot holds a gallon, 

By zounds.” 

’ Deputy to Mr. Hunt.^ Mr. Hunt was a little man and a young man; 
the Doctor, although of the same age, feeling the immensity of his quali¬ 
fications, refuses to second such a governor, urging his and like 
Billy Bugby, alleging that what he wanted in years he made up in hulk; 
and if he lacked in brains, he atoned for all in garbage. 

® Did for hangman, etc.'\ How the Doctor ever came to stumble on this 
unhappy idea, we are at a loss to imagine—it is an odd ‘ ‘ whimwham ” 
for a fellow to dub himself with the humorous epithet of hangman. “ We 
would not have his enemies say so.” Whether the Doctor has a hanging 
look or no, we leave others to determine. We are certain he is in no dan¬ 
ger of the gallows himself ; but w^e warn him to take care how he visits 
Connecticut—he may chance to be burnt for a witch. We give the Doc¬ 
tor's own claim to his Tyhum title. 

“ Now since j'e are a ruflaan crew, 

As honest Jack Ketch ever knew ; 

No threats nor growling shall prohibit 
My hanging you on satire’s gibbet.”— Vide Costive. 

* This clumsy jolter of jackasses.'] As this line partakes of the true Cos¬ 
tive obscurity, we beg leave tc explain. There is no intention of calling 
the Doc tor a jackass, we only mean that he makes an ass of Pegasus, and 
even when on p<x)r Pegasus (so degraded) he is but a miserable rider. His 
trotting, pacing, nigglety-nagglety lines, put us often in mind of that 
pious but quaint expression about the “ devil riding rough-shod over a soul.’* 


116 


SALMAGUNDI. 


« Half a poet.] 0, fie I friend Cockloft, this savors of sheer envy 
Were there any doubts of the Doctor’s being a whole poet—aye, and 
poet, the following verse would set them at rest. It shows that he is a 
complete jockey on Pegasus ; and when the poor nag won’t pace, he 11 
cudgel him as soundly as he does his own brains :— 

“ Yes, we were ’raptured when he said 
We’re all republican, all fed- 
Ral fellow-citizens, Americans, 

And hoped we’d done with faction’s hurricanes V'—Costive. 

Is this poetic frenzy (alias idiotism), or is it turgid stupidity ? Truly 
it is as smooth as a pine-log causeway ; it confirms the Doctor’s right to his 
siT-naTne, and can only be matched by a stave from the Doctor s contem¬ 
porary bard and rival rhymester, Searson—videlicet:— 

“From house to house soon took my departure, 

And to the garden look’d for sweet nature. 

The fishing very great at Mount Vernon, 

When there with other scenes I look’d upon. 

This pleasing seat hath its prospects so high. 

That one would think ’twas for astronomy, 

’Twmuld answer for an observatory.” 


The reader will perceive the similarity in taste, style, and ear of these 
rival poets. I have their works bound up together, and Minshull’s into 
the bargain. It shall go hard but they shall all descend the gutter of 
immortality together. 

His facsimile, famed Toney.\ The Doctor’s abusing poor Toney Pas- 
quin, brought forcibly to our recollection the vulgar cant saying about 
the pot and the kettle. Perhaps no two of the great poets of the day are 
more alike, in most particulars, than Doctor Costive and honest Toney. The 
Doctor is a true poetic blackguard—and so is Toney. The Doctor is an 
adept in the Billingsgate vocabulary—so is Toney. The Doctor has bespat¬ 
tered many a poor devil who never offended him—so has Toney. The Doc¬ 
tor has written a book—so has Toney. It may be said of each of them— 

“ We will not rake the dunghill for his crimes, 

Who knows the man w'ill never read his rhymes.” 

The only particular in which they disagree is, that Toney has occasion¬ 
ally been convicted of saying a good thing—the gentle stupidity of the 
Doctor being entirely innocent of anjiihing of the kind. 


FLUMMERY. 


117 


“Oh, here’s another pumpion, the cramm’d son of a starved usurer, 
Cacafogo. Both their brains buttered cannot make tv^o spoonsful.”— 
Rule a Wife. 

ASoo7t.] This word is entirely unnecessary to the sense, and is dragged 
in for no other purpose whatever but to eke out the line, in humble imi¬ 
tation of a dull, but honest expedient, frequently made use of by the illus¬ 
trious Searson, and his great rival. Doctor Costive. 

A'nd breaks etc.^ It has for some time been a trick with many a sleepy 
scribbler, beside the Doctor, though now it has grown rather notorious, to 
break their crabbed lines with a “fist or stick,” or a crowbar, and then 
term their chopped hay Iludibrastic—thus is poetry daily put on the rack; 
and thus is poor Butler crucified every hour. 

Rump-fed hellio^i.^ Lest the Doctor should here again accuse us of 
horrouing —a thing, by the by, we strongly suspect him of, as we think we 
can discover that many of his thoughts, and certainly some of his rhymes, 
are borrowed from the immortal Searson and the inimitable Minshull—we 
acknowledge that we are indebted for this line to Shakespeare. Whether 
the term rump-fed applies to the Doctor or not, we cannot exactly teU ; 
but if we were not afraid of sw^elling our notes, we would, following the 
example of the Doctor in his Democracy Unveiled, give our readers an ac¬ 
count of the famous Rump Parliament—and truly ’twould be as much in 
point as most of the notes in that celebrated work. 

Hellion. “A deputy scullion employed in regions below ‘to cook up 
the broth.’”—Link. Fid. The Doctor, good man, has employed him¬ 
self, whde on earth, as far as his weakly powers would go, in stewing up 
many a woful kettle of fish. 


“ Double, double, toil and trouble, 
Fire bum, and cauldron bubble.” 


Shakespeare must certainly have had the Doctor’s weekly mess of bubble 
and squeak in view, when he wrote the above. 

” As big as an elephant.'\ There is more truth than poetry in this com¬ 
parison. The following curious anecdote was told me by the Doctor him¬ 
self, when I breakfaeted with him the other morning : The elephant 
which travelled lately through our country, was shown in New England ; 
two simple country girls, desirous of seeing what kind of a beast it was, 
applied for admittance. On entering the room, the Doctor, who was 
stooping to tie his shoe-string with his back toward them, was for a mo¬ 
ment taken for the elephant I They declared it was a clumsy creature— 


118 


SALMAGUNDI. 


“ they could not make head nor tail of it.” No wonder, poor things, the 
critics were as much puzzled themselves, as we have already shown. 

16 Sweetest witling.^ A poetic license, the Doctor certainly being none 
of the sweetest of personages. Many a fair flower, however, springs out of 
a dunghill—and the Doctor is not the first poet who has written a sweet 
song in “marvelous dirty linen.” 

17 21ii8 hero, hangman, etc.'] 

“ All hushed in mute attention sit, 

To hear this critic, poet, wit. 

Philosopher, all, all at once. 

And to complete them, all this dunce.” 

Lloyd. 

18 Five hundred pound.] i. e. five hundred pounds weight; or in true 
avoirdupois, 4 cwt. 1 qu. 24 lbs. 


GENERAL REMARK. 

We have endeavored to copy the Doctor’s style and 
manner as correctly as possible throughout this charm¬ 
ing poem; the rhymes are chiefly “fllched” from his own 
labors, and jingle as harmoniously as sleigh bells—like 
him, we have sometimes risen and sometimes descended 
with all his leaden profundity. Some poets sip in the 
Heliconian stream, others dabble in it. The Doctor 
exceeds them all—he has a true poetic diving-bell— 
plunges boldly to the bottom, and there drabbles in the 
mud like a flounder. In the gallows part of his poem, 
the Doctor may truly be said to rise; and in our touch 
on the Helicon, we have almost equaled those profound 
sinkings of his genius, where the Doctor even descends 
below himself. We conclude with borrowing a speech 
from old Shakespeare—*‘Give me thy hand,” Doctor, “I 


NOTICE—CARD. 


119 


am sorry I beat thee; but while thou livest, keep a good 
tongue in thy head.” 


NOTICE. 

While in a “state militant,” waging war with folly and 
stupidity, and assailed on all sides by a combination of 
nincoms and numsculls, we are gratified to find that our 
careless effusions have received the approbation of men 
of wit and genius. We have expressed heretofore oui 
contempt for the applause of the million^ but we confess 
ourselves ambitious of the praises of the few; we have 
read, therefore, with infinite self-congratulation the en¬ 
comiums passed on our productions by the learned and 
liberal editor of the “People’s Friend.” The attacks of 
that billingsgate drolls Dr. Costive, and his whole North 
River fraternity, could not give us greater delight. We 
also publish with pride the following Card from the 
authors of “The Echo,”* a work which we have com¬ 
mended to a conspicuous post in our library, and we do 
hereby shake its authors by the hand as a set of right 
merry wags, choice spirits, and, what we think better 
than all, genuine humorists. 

CARD. 

“The authors of The Echo send a copy of it to the 
writers of Salmagundi, which they request them to ac^ 

* The famous production of the Hartford wits, Alsop, Dwight, Hop¬ 
kins & Co. 


i20 


8ALMA0UNBL 


cept, as a mark of tlie pleasure they have received from 
their Cervantic effusions.” 

Now we are in the humor of card writing, we would 
acknowledge the reception of several effusions in prose 
and verse, which, though they do great credit to the 
writers, and would doubtless be both pleasing and in¬ 
structive to the public, yet do not come exactly within 
the intention of our work; the authors, therefore, will 
excuse our not publishing them. 

We have likewise received a note written in a French 
hand, but in villainous bad English. Will Wizard has 
been at much pains to decipher it, but in vain; it is as 
unintelligible as a Herculanean manuscript. He has dis¬ 
covered, however, that it is a vindication of dancing, 
together with a long eulogy on the pas de chat 

As a considerable part of this paper is taken up with 
a stupid subject, namely; the Doctor, and we do not 
wish that our readers should pay for “flummery” merely, 
we have directed our publisher to give them eight pages 
extra; this will account for the unusual size of the pres¬ 
ent number. We confess we borrowed this idea, among 
many others, from the Doctor, who lately finding that 
his readers were dissatisfied with the contents of his 

weekly^' paper, endeavored to put them in good humor 
by doubling the hulk; this he waggishly enough terms 
doubling the dose —0, the droll dog! 


NO. Y.—SATUKDAY, MAKCH 7, 1807. 


FROM MY ELBOW-CHAIR. 

HE following letter from my friend Mustapha 
appears to have been written some time sub¬ 
sequent to the one already published. Were I 
to judge from its contents, I should suppose it was sug¬ 
gested by the splendid review of the twenty-fifth of last 
November, when a pair of colors were presented at the 
City Hall, to the regiments of artillery; and when a huge 
dinner was devoured by our corporation, in the honor¬ 
able remembrance of the evacuation of this city. I am 
happy to find that the laudable spirit of military emula¬ 
tion which prevails in our city has attracted the atten¬ 
tion of a stranger of Mustapha’s sagacity; by military 
emulation I mean that spirited rivalry in the size of a 
hat, the length of a feather, and the gingerbread finery 
of a sword-belt. 


LETTER FROM MUSTAPHA RUB-A-DUB KELI KHAN, TO 
ABDALLAH EB’N AL RAHAB, SURNAMED THE SNORER, 
MILITARY SENTINEL AT THE GATE OF HIS HIGHNESS’ 
PALACE. 

HOU hast heard, O Abdallah, of the great magician 
Muley Fuz, who could change a blooming land 

121 








122 


8ALMA0UNDL 


blessed with all the elysian charms of hill and dale, of 
glade and grove, of fruit and flower, into a desert, fright¬ 
ful, solitary, and forlorn; who, with the wave of his wand 
could transform even the disciples of Mahomet into grin¬ 
ning apes and chattering monkeys. Surely, thought I to 
myself this morning, the dreadful Muley has been exer¬ 
cising his infernal enchantments on these unhappy in¬ 
fidels. Listen, O Abdallah, and wonder! Last night I 
committed myself to tranquil slumber, encompassed with 
all the monotonous tokens of peace, and this morning I 
awoke enveloped in the noise, the bustle, the clangor, 
and the shouts of war. Everything was changed, as if 
by magic. An immense army had sprung up, like mush¬ 
rooms, in a night, and all the cobblers, tailors, and tink¬ 
ers of the city had mounted the nodding plume; had 
become, in the twinkling of an eye, helmeted heroes and 
war-worn veterans. 

Alarmed at the beating of drums, the braying of trum¬ 
pets, and the shouting of the multitude, I dressed myself 
in haste, sallied forth, and followed a prodigious crowd 
of people to a place called the Battery. This is so 
denominated, I am told, from having once been defended 
with formidable wooden bulwarks, which in the course of 
a hard winter were thriftily pulled to pieces by an eco¬ 
nomic corporation, to be distributed for fire-wood among 
the poor; this was done at the hint of a cunning old 
engineer, who assured them it was the only way in which 
their fortifications would ever be able to keep up a warm 


APPEARANCE OF THE ARMY. 


123 


fire. Economy, my friend, is the watchword of this na¬ 
tion ; I have been studying for a month past to divine its 
meaning, but truly am as much perplexed as ever. It is 
a kind of national starvation; an experiment how many 
comforts and necessaries the body politic can be de¬ 
prived of before it perishes. It has already arrived to a 
lamentable degree of debility, and promises to share the 
fate of the Arabian philosopher, who proved that he 
could live without food, but unfortunately died just as he 
had brought his experiment to perfection. 

On arriving at the Battery, I found an immense army 
of SIX HUNDRED MEN, drawn up in a true Mussulman cres¬ 
cent. At first I supposed this was in compliment to my¬ 
self, but my interpreter informed me that it was done 
merely for want of room—the corporation not being able 
to afford them sufficient to display in a straight line. As 
I expected a display of some grand evolutions and mili¬ 
tary maneuvers, I determined to remain a tranquil spec¬ 
tator, in hopes that I might possibly collect some hints 
which might be of service to His Highness. 

This great body of men, I perceived, was under the 
command of a small bashaw, in yellow and gold, with 
white nodding plumes, and most formidable whiskers; 
which, contrary to the Tripolitan fashion, were in the 
neighborhood of his ears instead of his nose. He had 
two attendants called aid-de-camps (or tails), being simi¬ 
lar to a bashaw with two tails. The bashaw, though 
commander-in-chief, seemed to have little more to do 


124 


SALMAGUNDI. 


than myself; he was a spectator within the lines, and I 
without: he was clear of the rabble, and I was encom¬ 
passed by them; this was the only difference between us, 
except that he had the best opportunity of showing his 
clothes. I waited an hour or two with exemplary pa¬ 
tience, expecting to see some grand military evolutions 
or a sham battle exhibited; but no such thing took 
place; the men stood stock still, supporting their arms, 
groaning under the fatigues of war, and now and then 
sending out a foraging party to levy contributions of 
beer and a favorite beverage which they denominated 
grog. As I perceived the crowd very active in examining 
the line, from one extreme to the other, and as I could 
see no other purpose for which these sunshine warriors 
should be exposed so long to the merciless attacks of the 
wind and weather, I of course concluded that this must 
be the review. 

In about two hours the army was put in motion, and 
marched through some narrow streets—there the eco¬ 
nomic corporation had carefully provided a soft carpet of 
mud—to a magnificent castle of painted brick, decorated 
with grand pillars of pine boards. By the ardor which 
brightened in each countenance, I soon perceived that 
this castle was to undergo a vigorous attack. As the 
ordnance of the castle was perfectly silent, and as they 
had nothing but a straight street to advance through, 
they made their approaches with great courage and ad¬ 
mirable regularity, until within about a hundred feet of 


A BRILLIANT GHAROE. 


125 


the castle a pump opposed a formidable obstacle in their 
way, and put the whole army to a nonplus. The circum¬ 
stance was sudden and unlooked for: the commanding 
officer ran over all the military tactics with which his 
head was crammed, but none offered any expedient for 
the present awful emergency. The pump maintained its 
post, and so did the commander; there was no knowing 
which was most at a stand. The commanding officer 
ordered his men to wheel and take it in flank; the army 
accordingly wheeled and came full butt against it in the 
rear, exactly as they were before. “Wheel to the left!” 
cried the officer; they did so, and again as before the 
inveterate pump intercepted their progress. “Right 
about face!” cried the officer; the men obeyed, but bun¬ 
gled—they faced back to hack. Upon this the bashaw 
with two tails, with great coolness, undauntedly ordered 
his men to push right forward, pell-mell, pump or no 
pump; they gallantly obeyed; after unheard-of acts of 
bravery the pump was carried, without the loss of a man, 
and the army firmly intrenched itself under the walls of 
the castle. The bashaw had then a council of war with 
his officers; the most vigorous measures were resolved 
on. An advanced guard of musicians were ordered to 
attack the castle without mercy. Then the whole band 
opened a most tremendous battery of drums, fifes, tam¬ 
bourines, and trumpets, and kept up a thundering as¬ 
sault, as if the castle, like the walls of Jericho, spoken of 
in the Jewish Chronicles, would tumble down at the 


126 


SALMAGUNDI. 


blowing of rams’ liorns. After some time a parley en¬ 
sued. The grand bashaw of the city appeared on the 
battlements of the castle, and as far as I could under¬ 
stand from circumstances, dared the little bashaw of two 
tails to single combat—this thou knowest was in the 
style of ancient chivalry—the little bashaw dismounted 
with great intrepidity, and ascended the battlements of 
the castle, where the great bashaw waited to receive him, 
attended by numerous dignitaries and worthies of his 
court, one of whom bore the splendid banners of the 
castle. The battle was carried on entirely by words, 
according to the universal custom of this country, of 
which I shall speak to thee more fully hereafter. The 
grand bashaw made a furious attack in a speech of 
considerable length; the little bashaw, by no means 
appalled, retorted with great spirit. The grand bashaw 
attempted to rip him up with an argument, or stun him 
with a solid fact; but the little bashaw parried them 
both with admirable adroitness, and run him clean 
through and through with a syllogism. The grand ba¬ 
shaw was overthrown, the banners of the castle yielded 
up to the little bashaw, and the castle surrendered after 
a vigorous defense of three hours, during which the 
besiegers suffered great extremity from muddy streets 
and a drizzling atmosphere. 

On returning to dinner I soon discovered that as usual 
I had been indulging in a great mistake. The matter 
was all clearly explained to me by a fellow-lodger, who 


FEATHERS. 


127 


on ordinary occasions moves in the humble character of 
a tailor, but in the present instance figured in a high 
military station, denominated corporal. He informed me 
that what I had mistaken for a castle was the splendid 
palace of the municipality, and that the supposed attack 
was nothing more than the delivery of a flag given by the 
authorities, to the army, for its magnanimous defense of 
the town for upward of twenty years past, that is, ever 
since the last war! O my friend, surely everything in 
this country is on a great scale!—The conversation in¬ 
sensibly turned upon the military establishment of the 
nation; and I do assure thee that my friend, the tailor, 
though being, according to a national proverb, but the 
ninth part of a man, yet acquitted himself on military 
concerns as ably as the grand bashaw of the empire him¬ 
self. He observed that their rulers had decided that 
wars were very useless and expensive, and ill befitting an 
economic, philosophic nation; they had therefore made 
up their minds never to have any wars, and consequently 
there was no need of soldiers or military discipline. As, 
however, it was thought highly ornamental to a city to 
have a number of men dressed in fine clothes and 
feathers, strutting about the streets on a holiday,—and 
as the women and children were particularly fond of 
such raree shoivs, it was ordered that the tailors of the 
different cities throughout the empire should, forthwith, 
go to work and cut out and manufacture soldiers as fast 
as their shears and needles would permit. 


128 


SALMAGUNDI. 


These soldiers have no pecuniary pay; and their onlj 
recompense for the immense services which they render 
their country, in their voluntary parades, is the plunder 
of smiles, and winks, and nods which they extort from 
the ladies. As they have no opportunity, like the va¬ 
grant Arabs, of making inroads on their neighbors: and 
as it is necessary to keep up their military spirit, the 
town is therefore now and then, but particularly on two 
days of the year, given up to their ravages. The arrange¬ 
ments are contrived with admirable address, so that 
every officer, from the bashaw down to the drum-major, 
the chief of the eunuchs, or musicians, shall have his 
share of that invaluable booty, the admiration of the fair. 
As to the soldiers, poor animals, they, like the privates 
in all great armies, have to bear the brunt of danger and 
fatigue, while their officers receive all the glory and 
reward. The narrative of a parade day will exemplify 
this more clearly. 

The chief bashaw, in the plenitude of his authority, 
orders a grand review of the whole army at two o’clock. 
The bashaw with two tails, that he may have an oppor¬ 
tunity of vaporing about, as greatest man on the field, 
orders the army to assemble at twelve. The kiay, or 
colonel, as he is called, that is, commander of one hun¬ 
dred and twenty men, orders his regiment or tribe to 
collect one mile at least from the place of parade at 
eleven. Each captain, or fag-rag, as we term them, com¬ 
mands his squad to meet at ten, at least half a mile from 


THE HONORS OF WAR. 


129 


the regimental parade; and to close all, the chief of the 
eunuchs orders his infernal concert of fifes, trumpets, 
cymbals, and kettle-drums to assemble at ten!—from 
that moment the city receives no quarter. All is noise, 
hooting, hubbub, and combustion. Every window, door, 
crack, and loophole, from the garret to the cellar, is 
crowded with the fascinating fair of all ages and of all 
complexions. The mistress smiles through the windows 
of the drawing-room ; the chubby chambermaid lolls out 
of the attic casement, and a host of sooty wenches roll 
their white eyes and grin and chatter from the cellar 
door. Every nymph seems anxious to yield voluntarily 
that tribute which the heroes of their country demand. 
First struts the chief eunuch, or drum-major, at the head 
of his sable band, magnificently arrayed in tarnished 
scarlet. Alexander himself could not have spurned the 
earth more superbly. A host of ragged boys shout in 
his train, and inflate the bosom of the warrior with ten¬ 
fold self-complacency. After he has rattled his kettle¬ 
drums through the town, and swelled and swaggered like 
a turkey-cock before all the dingy Floras, and Dianas, 
and Junos, and Didos of his acquaintance, he repairs 
to his place of destination loaded with a rich booty of 
smiles and approbation. Next comes the fag-rag, or 
captain, at the head of his mighty band, consisting of 
one lieutenant, one ensign, or mute, four sergeants, four 
corporals, one drummer, one fifer, and if he has any 
privates so much the better for himself. In marching to 
9 


130 


SALMAGUNDI. 


the regimental parade, he is sure to paddle through the 
street or lane which is honored with the residence of his 
mistress or intended, whom he resolutely lays under a 
heavy contribution. Truly it is delectable to behold 
these heroes, as they march, cast side glances at the 
upper windows; to collect the smiles, the nods, and the 
winks, which the enraptured fair ones lavish profusely 
on the magnanimous defenders of their country. 

The fag-rags having conducted their squads to their 
respective regiments, then comes the turn of the colonel, 
a bashaw with no tails, for all eyes are now directed to 
him; and the fag-rags, and the eunuchs, and the kettle- 
drummers, having had their hour of notoriety, are con¬ 
founded and lost in the military crowd. The colonel sets 
his whole regiment in motion; and mounted on a mettle¬ 
some charger, frisks and fidgets, and capers and plunges 
in front, to the great entertainment of the multitude, and 
the great hazard of himself and his neighbors. Having 
displayed himself, his trappings, his horse, and his 
horsemanship, he at length arrives at the place of gen¬ 
eral rendezvous, blessed with the universal admiration of 
his country-women. I should perhaps mention a squad¬ 
ron of hardy veterans, most of whom have seen a deal 
of service during the nineteen or twenty years of their 
experience, and who, most gorgeously equipped in tight 
green jackets and breeches, trot and amble, and gallop 
and scamper like little devils through every street and 
nook and corner and poke-hole of the city, to the great 


TEE TUG OF WAR. 


131 


dread of all old people, and sage matrons with young 
children. This is truly sublime! this is what I call 
making a mountain out of a mole-hill. O, my friend, on 
what a great scale is everything done in this country. It 
is in the style of the wandering Arabs of the desert 
EUtih. Is a village to be attacked, or a hamlet to be 
plundered, the whole desert, for weeks beforehand, is in 
a buzz: such marching and countermarching, ere they 
can concentrate their ragged forces ! and the consequence 
is, that before they can bring their troops into action, 
the whole enterprise is blown. 

The army being all happily collected on the Battery, 
though, perhaps, two hours after the time appointed, it 
is now the turn of the bashaw with two tails to distin¬ 
guish himself. Ambition, my friend, is implanted alike 
in every heart, it pervades each bosom, from the bashaw 
to the drum-major. This is a sage truism, and I trust, 
therefore, it will not be disputed. The bashaw, fired 
with that thirst for glory, inseparable from the noble 
mind, is anxious to reap a full share of the laurels of the 
day and bear off his portion of female plunder. The 
drums beat, the fifes whistle, the standards wave proudly 
in the air. The signal is given! thunder roars the can¬ 
non ! away goes the bashaw, and away go the tails ! The 
review finished, evolutions and military maneuvers are 
generally dispensed with for three excellent reasons: 
first, because the army knows very little about them; 
second, because, as the country has determined to remain 


^32 


SALMAGUNDI. 


always at peace, there is no necessity for them to know 
anything about them; and third, as it is growing late, the 
bashaw must despatch, or it will be too dark for him to 
get his quota of the plunder. He, of course, orders the 
whole army to march; and now, my friend, now comes 
the tug of war, now is the city completely sacked. Open 
fly the Battery gates, forth sallies the bashaw with his 
two tails, surrounded by a shouting body-guard of boys 
and negroes ! then pour forth his legions, potent as the 
pismires of the desert! the customary salutations of the 
country commence—these tokens of joy and admiration 
which so much annoyed me on first landing; the air is 
darkened with old hats, shoes, and dead cats; they fly in 
showers like the arrows of the Parthians. The soldiers, 
no ways disheartened, like the intrepid followers of 
Leonidas, march gallantly under their shade. On they 
push, splash, dash, mud or no mud. Down one lane, up 
another; the martial music resounds through every 
street; the fair ones throng to their windows; the sol¬ 
diers look every way but straight forward. “Carry 
arms!” cries the bashaw—“tan-ta ra-ra,” brays the 
trumpet — “ rub-a-dub,” roars the drum — “ hurraw,” 
shout the ragamuffins. The bashaw smiles with exulta¬ 
tion—every fag-rag feels himself a hero—“ none but 
the brave deserves the fair!” Head of the immortal 
Amrou, on what a great scale is everything in this 
country! 

Ay, but you’ll say, is not this unfair that the officers 


SUMMING UP. 


133 


should share all the sports while the privates undergo 
all the fatigue ? Truly, my friend, I indulged the same 
idea, and pitied from my heart the poor fellows who had 
to drabble through the mud and the mire, toiling under 
ponderous cocked hats, which seemed as unwieldy and 
cumbrous as the shell which the snail lumbers along on 
his back. I soon found out, however, that they have 
their quantum of notoriety. As soon as the army is dis¬ 
missed, the city swarms with little scouting parties, who 
fire off their guns at every corner, to the great delight of 
all the women and children in their vicinity; and woe 
unto any dog, or pig, or hog, that falls in the way of 
these magnanimous warriors ; they are shown no quarter. 
Every gentle swain repairs to pass the evening at the 
feet of his dulcinea, to play, “ the soldier tired of war’s 
alarms,” and to captivate her with the glare of his regi¬ 
mentals ; excepting some ambitious heroes who strut to 
the theatre, flame away in the front boxes, and hector 
every old apple-woman in the lobbies. 

Such, my friend, is the gigantic genius of this nation, 
and its faculty for swelling up nothings into importance. 
Our bashaw of Tripoli will review his troops of some 
thousands, by an early hour in the morning. Here a 
review of six hundred men is made the mighty work 9 
day! with us a bashaw of two tails is never appointed to 
a command of less than ten thousand men; but here we 
behold every grade, from the bashaw down to the drum- 
major, in a force of less than one-tenth of the number. 


134 


SALMAGUNDI. 


By the beard of Mahomet! but everything here is indeed 
on a great scale. 


BY ANTHONY EVERGREEN, GENT. 

"T WAS not a little surprised the other morning at a 
request from Will Wizard that I would accompany 

him that evening to Mrs.-’s ball. The request was 

simple enough in itself, it was only singular as coming 
from Will; of all my acquaintance, Wizard is the least 
calculated and disposed for the society of ladies—not 
that he dislikes their company; on the contrary, like 
every man of pith and marrow, he is a professed admirer 
of the sex; and had he been born a poet, would undoubt¬ 
edly have bespattered and berhymed some hard-named 
goddess, until she became as famous as Petrarch’s 
Laura, or Waller’s Sacharissa; but Will is such a con¬ 
founded bungler at a bow, has so many odd bachelor 
habits, and finds it so troublesome to be gallant, that 
he generally prefers smoking his cigar and telling his 
stories among cronies of his own gender—and thunder¬ 
ing long stories they are, let me tell you; set Will once 
a-going about China or Crim Tartary, or the Hottentots, 
and Heaven help the poor victim who has to endure his 
prolixity; he might better be tied to the tail of a jack-o’- 
lantern. In one word—Will talks like a traveller. Being 
well acquainted with his character, I was the more 
alarmed at his inclination to visit a party; since he has 



WILL WIZARD'S EVENING DRESS. 


135 


often assured me, that he considered it as equivalent to 
being stuck up for three hours in a steam engine. I even 
wondered how he had received an invitation; this he 
soon accounted for. It seems Will, on his last arrival 
from Canton, had made a present of a case of tea to a 
lady for whom he had once entertained a sneaking kind¬ 
ness when at grammar school; and she in return had 
invited him to come and drink some of it; a cheap way 
enough of paying off little obligations. I readily acceded 
to Will’s proposition, expecting much entertainment from 
his eccentric remarks; and as he has been absent some 
few years, I anticipated his surprise at the splendor and 
elegance of a modern rout. 

On calling for Will in the evening, I found him full 
dressed, waiting for me. I contemplated him with abso¬ 
lute dismay. As he still retained a spark of regard for 
the lady who once reigned in his affections, he had been 
at unusual pains in decorating his person, and broke 
upon my sight arrayed in the true style that prevailed 
among our beaux some years ago. His hair was turned 
up and tufted at the top, frizzled out at the ears, a 
profusion of powder puffed over the whole, and a long 
plaited club swung gracefully from shoulder to shoulder, 
describing a pleasing semicircle of powder and pomatum. 
His claret-colored coat was decorated with a profusion 
of gilt buttons, and reached to his calves. His white 
cassimere small-clothes were so tight that he seemed to 
have grown up in them; and his ponderous legs, which 


136 


8ALMA0UNDL 


are the thickest part of his body, were beautifully clothed 
in sky-blue silk stockings, once considered so becom¬ 
ing. But above all, he prided himself upon his waistcoat 
of China silk, which might almost have served a good 
housewife for a shortgown; and he boasted that the 
roses and tulips upon it were the work of Nang-Fou, 
daughter of the great Chin-Chin-Fou^ who had fallen in 
love with the graces of his person, and sent it to him as 
a parting present; he assured me she was a remarkable 
beauty, with sweet obliquity of eyes, and a foot no larger 
than the thumb of an alderman; he then dilated most 
copiously on his silver-sprigged dickey, which he as¬ 
sured me was quite the rage among the dashing young 
mandarins of Canton. 

I hold it an ill-natured office to put any man out of 
conceit with himself; so, though I would willingly have 
made a little alteration in my friend Wizard’s pictu¬ 
resque costume, yet I politely complimented him on his 
rakish appearance. 

On entering the room I kept a good lookout on Will, 
expecting to see him exhibit signs of surprise; but he is 
one of those knowing fellows who are never surprised at 
anything, or at least will never acknowledge it. He took 
his stand in the middle of the floor, playing with his 
great steel watch-chain; and looking round on the com¬ 
pany, the furniture, and the pictures, with the air of a 
man ‘‘ who has seen d—d finer things in his time ; ” and 
to my utter confusion and dismay, I saw him coolly pull 


BILLY DIMPLE. 


137 


ont his villainous old japanned tobacco-box, ornamented 
with a bottle, a pipe, and a scurvy motto, and help him¬ 
self to a quid in face of all the company. 

I knew it was all in vain to find fault with a fellow of 
Will’s Socratic turn, who is never to be put out of humor 
with himself; so, after he had given his box its prescrip¬ 
tive rap, and returned it to his pocket, I drew him into 
a corner where we might observe the company without 
being prominent objects ourselves. 

“And pray who is that stylish figure,” said Will, 
“ who blazes away in red, like a volcano, and who seems 
wrapped in flames like a fiery dragon ? ” “ That,” cried 

I, “ is Miss Laurella Dashaway—she is the highest flash 
of the ton—has much whim and more eccentricity, and 
has reduced many an unhappy gentleman to stupidity by 
her charms; you see she holds out the red flag in token 
of ‘ no quarter.’ ” “ Then keep me safe out of the sphere 
of her attractions,” cried Will, “ I would not e’en come 
in contact with her train, lest it should scorch me like 
the tail of a comet. But who, I beg of you, is that amia¬ 
ble youth who is handing a young lady, and at the same 
time contemplating his sweet person in a mirror as he 
passes ? ” “ His name,” said I, “ is Billy Dimple ; he is a 
universal smiler, and would travel from Dan to Beer- 
sheba and smile on everybody as he passed. Dimple is 
a slave to the ladies—a hero at tea-parties, and is famous 
at the pirouette and the pigeon-wing; a fiddle-stick is his 
idol, and a dance his elysium.” “A very pretty young 


138 


SALMAOUNBL 


gentleman, truly,” cried Wizard, “he reminds me of a 
contemporary beau at Hayti. You must know that the 
magnanimous Dessalines gave a great ball to his court 
one fine sultry summer’s evening; Dessy and me were 
great cronies—hand and glove—one of the most con¬ 
descending great men I ever knew. Such a display of 
black and yellow beauties ! such a show of Madras hand¬ 
kerchiefs, red beads, cocks’ tails and peacocks’ feathers 1 
—it was, as here, who should wear the highest top-knot, 
drag the longest tails, or exhibit the greatest variety of 
combs, colors, and gewgaws. In the middle of the rout, 
when all was buzz, slipslop, crack, and perfume, who 
should enter but Tucky Squash! The yellow beauties 
blushed blue, and the black ones blushed as red as they 
could, with pleasure ; and there was a universal agitation 
of fans; every eye brightened and whitened to see 
Tucky; for he was the pride of the court, the pink of 
courtesy, the mirror of fashion, the adoration of all the 
sable fair ones of Hayti. Such breadth of nose, such 
exuberance of lip! his shins had the true cucumber 
curve; his face in dancing shone like a kettle; and pro¬ 
vided you kept to windward of him in summer, I do not 
know a sweeter youth in all Hayti than Tucky Squash. 
When he laughed, there appeared from ear to ear a 
chevaux-de-frise of teeth, that rivaled the shark’s in 
whiteness ; he could whistle like a northwester; play on 
a three-stringed fiddle like Apollo ; and as to dancing no 
Long Island negro could shuffle you ‘ double trouble,’ 


WILL WIZARD'8 DANCINO. 


139 


‘hoe corn and dig potatoes’ more scientifically—in short, 
he was a second Lothario. And the dusky nymphs of 
Hayti, one and all, declared him a perpetual Adonis. 
Tucky walked about, whistling to himself, without re¬ 
garding anybody; and his nonchalance was irresistible.” 

I found Will had got neck and heels into one of his 
traveller’s stories; and there is no knowing how far he 
would have run his parallel between Billy Dimple and 
Tucky Squash, had not the music struck up from an 
adjoining apartment and summoned the company to a 
dance. The sound seemed to have an inspiring effect on 
honest Will, and he procured the hand of an old ac¬ 
quaintance for a country dance. It happened to be the 
fashionable one of “ the Devil among the Tailors,” which 
is so vociferously demanded at every ball and assembly; 
and many a torn gown, and many an unfortunate toe did 
rue the dancing of that night; for Will thundered dowu 
the dance like a coach and six, sometimes right, some¬ 
times wrong; now running over half a score of little 
Frenchmen, and now making sad inroads into ladies’ 
cobweb muslins and spangled tails. As every part of 
Will’s body partook of the exertion, he shook from his 
capacious head such volumes of powder that, like pious 
^neas on his first interview with Queen Dido, he might 
be said to have been enveloped in a cloud. Nor was 
Will’s partner an insignificant figure in the scene; she 
was a young lady of most voluminous proportions, that 
quivered at every skip; and being braced up in the fash' 


140 


SALMAOUNDL 


ionable style, with whalebone, stay-tape, and buckram, 
looked like an apple-pudding tied in the middle ; or, tak¬ 
ing her flaming dress into consideration, like a bed and 
bolsters rolled up in a suit of red curtains. The dance 
finished, I would gladly have taken Will off; but no, he 
was now in one of his happy moods, and there was no 
doing anything with him. He insisted on my introduc¬ 
ing him to Miss Sophy Sparkle, a young lady unrivaled 
for playful wit and innocent vivacity, and who like a 
brilliant adds lustre to the front of fashion. I accord¬ 
ingly presented him to her, and began a conversation in 
which, I thought, he might take a share; but no such 
thing. Will took his stand beside her, straddling like a 
Colossus, with his hands in his pockets, and an air of the 
most profound attention ; nor did he pretend to open his 
lips for some time, until, upon some lively sally of hers, 
he electrified the whole company with a most intolerable 
burst of laughter. What was to be done with such an 
incorrigible fellow? To add to my distress, the first 
word he spoke was to tell Miss Sparkle that something 
she had said reminded him of a circumstance that hap¬ 
pened to him in China; and at it he went in the true 
traveller style; described the Chinese mode of eating 
rice with chop-sticks; entered into a long eulogium on 
the succulent qualities of boiled birds’ nests; and I 
made my escape at the very moment when he was on the 
point of squatting down on the floor, to show how the 
little Chinese Joshes sit cross-legged. 


TO THE LADIES. 


141 


TO THE LADIES. 

mOM THE MILL OF PINDAR COCKLOFT, ESQ. 



HOUGH jogging down the hill of life, 


Without the comfort of a wife; 

And though I ne^er a helpmate chose, 

To stock my house and mend my hose; 
With care my person to adorn ; 

And spruce me up on Sunday mom; 

Still do I love the gentle sex, 

And still with cares my brain perplex, 

To keep the fair ones of the age 
Unsullied as the spotless page ; 

All pure, all simple, all refined. 

The sweetest solace of mankind. 

I hate the loose insidious jest 
To beauty’s modest ear addrest. 

And hold that frowns should never fail 
To check each smooth, but fulsome tale; 
But he whose impious pen should dare 
Invade the morals of the fair; 

To taint that purity divine 
Which should each female heart enshrine ; 
Though soft his vicious strains should swell, 
As those which erst from Gabriel fell. 
Should yet be held aloft to shame. 

And foul dishonor shade his name. 

Judge then, my friends, of my surprise. 

The ire that kindled in my eyes. 


142 


SALMAGUNDI. 


When I relate, that t’other day 
I went a morning call to pay, 

On two young nieces, just come down 
To take the polish of the town : 

By which I mean no more or less 
Than a la Fran^aise to undress; 

To whirl the modest waltz’s rounds. 
Taught by Duport for snug ten pounds | 
To thump and thunder through a song. 
Play fortes soft and dolces strong ; 
Exhibit loud piano feats. 

Caught from that crotchet-hero Meetz ; 
To drive the rose-bloom from the face. 
And fix the lily in its place ; 

To doff the white, and in its stead 
To bounce around in brazen red. 

While in the parlor I delay’d 
Till they their persons had array’d, 

A dapper volume caught my eye. 

That on the window chanced to lie : 

A book’s a friend—I always choose 
To turn its pages and peruse ; 

It proved those poems known to fame 
For praising every cyprian dame ; 

The bantlings of a dapper youth, 
Kenown’d for gratitude and truth ; 

A little pest, hight Tommy Moore, 

Who hopp’d and skipp’d our country o’er 
Who sipp’d our tea and lived on sops, 
Revel’d on syllabubs and slops. 


TOMMY MOORE. 


14S 


And when his brain, of cobweb fine. 
Was fuddled with five drops of wine. 
Would all his puny loves rehearse. 

And many a maid debauch—in verse. 
Surprised to meet in open view, 

A book of such lascivious hue, 

I chid my nieces, but they say 
’Tis all the passion of the day ; 

That many a fashionable belle 
Will with enraptured accents dwell 
On the sweet morceau she has found 
In this delicious, curst compound ! 

Soft do the tinkling numbers roll. 
And lure to vice the unthinking soul; 
They tempt by softer sounds away. 
They lead entranced the heart astray ; 
And Satan’s doctrine sweetly sing. 

As with a seraph’s heavenly string. 
Such sounds, so good old Homer sung. 
Once warbled from the Siren’s tongue ; 
Sweet melting tones were heard to pour 
Along Ausonia’s sun-gilt shore ; 
Seductive strains in ether fioat. 

And every wild, deceitful note 
That could the yielding heart assail. 
Were wafted on the breathing gale ; 
And every gentle accent bland, 

To tempt Ulysses to their strand. 

And can it be this book so base. 

Is laid on every window-case ? 


144 


SALMAGUNDI. 


0 ! fair ones, if you will profane 

Those breasts where heaven itself should reign j 

And throw those pure recesses wide, 

Where peace and virtue should reside, 

To let the holy pile admit 
A guest unhallowed and unfit; 

Pray, like the frail ones of the night. 

Who hide their wanderings from the light. 

So let your errors secret be. 

And hide, at least, your fault from me; 

Seek some by-corner to explore 
The smooth polluted pages o’er : 

There drink the insidious poison in. 

There silly nurse your souls for sin ; 

And while that purity you blight. 

Which stamps you messengers of light. 

And sap those mounds the gods bestow. 

To keep you spotless here below ; 

Still, in compassion to our race, 

Who joy, not only in the face. 

But in that more exalted part. 

The sacred temple of the heart; 

0 ! hide forever from our view 
The fatal mischief you pursue ; 

Let MEN your praises still exalt. 

And none but angels mourn your fault. 


NO. yi.—FKroAT, MAECH 20, 1807. 


FROM MY ELBOW-CHAIR. 

Cockloft family, of which I have made such 
luent mention, is of great antiquity, if there 
any truth in the genealogical tree which 
hangs up in my cousin’s library. They trace their de¬ 
scent from a celebrated Koman knight, cousin to the pro¬ 
genitor of his majesty of Britain, who left his native coun¬ 
try on occasion of some disgust, and coming into Wales, 
became a great favorite of Prince Madoc, and accom¬ 
panied that famous argonaut in the voyage which ended 
in the discovery of this continent. Though a member of 
the family, I have sometimes ventured to doubt the au¬ 
thenticity of this portion of their annals, to the great 
vexation of cousin Christopher, who is looked up to as 
the head of our house, and who, though as orthodox as a 
bishop, would sooner give up the whole decalogue than 
lop off a single limb of the family tree. From time im¬ 
memorial, it has been the rule for the Cocklofts to marry 
one of their own name; and, as they always bred like 
rabbits, the family has increased and multiplied like that 
of Adam and Eve. In truth, their number is almost in- 
10 145 







146 


8ALMAGUNDL 


credible; and yon can hardly go into any part of the ^ 
country without starting a warren of genuine Cocklofts. 
Every person of the least observation or experience must 
have observed that where this practice of marrying cous¬ 
ins, and second cousins, prevails in a family, every mem¬ 
ber, in the course of a few generations, becomes queer, 
humorous, and original; as much distinguished from the 
common race of mongrels as if he was of a different 
species. This has happened in our family, and particu¬ 
larly in that branch of it of which Mr. Christopher Cock¬ 
loft, or, to do him justice, Mr. Christopher Cockloft, Esq., 
is the head. Christopher is, in fact, the only married 
man of the name who resides in town; his family is 
small, having lost most of his children, when young, 
by the excessive care he took to bring them up like 
vegetables. This was one of his first whimwhams, and a 
confounded one it was, as his children might have told, 
had they not fallen victims to this experiment before 
they could talk. He had got from some quack philoso¬ 
pher or other a notion that there was a complete analogy 
between children and plants, and that they ought to be 
both reared alike. Accordingly he sprinkled them every 
morning with water; laid them out in the sun, as he did 
his geraniums ; and, if the season was remarkably dry, 
repeated this wise experiment three or four times of a 
morning. The consequence was, that the poor little 
souls died one after the other, except Jeremy and his 
two sisters; who, to be sure, are a trio of as odd, runty, 


MRS. COCKLOFT, 


147 


mummy-looking originals as ever Hogarth fancied in his 
most happy moments. Mrs. Cockloft, the larger if not 
the better half of my cousin, often remonstrated against 
this vegetable theory; and even brought the parson of 
the parish, in which my cousin’s country house is situ¬ 
ated, to her aid; but in vain : Christopher persisted, and 
attributed the failure of his plan to its not having been 
exactly conformed to. As I have mentioned Mrs. Cock¬ 
loft, I may as well say a little more about her while I am 
in the humor. She is a lady of wonderful notability, a 
warm admirer of shining mahogany, clean hearths, and 
her husband, who she considers the wisest man in the 
world, bating Will Wizard and the parson of our parish, 
the last of whom is her oracle on all occasions. She 
goes constantly to church every Sunday and Saint’s-day; 
and insists upon it that no man is entitled to ascend a 
pulpit unless he has been ordained by a bishop : nay, so 
far does she carry her orthodoxy, that all the argument 
in the world will never persuade her that a Presbyterian 
or Baptist, or even a Calvinist, has any possible chance 
of going to Heaven. Above everything else, however, 
she abhors paganism; can scarcely refrain from laying 
violent hands on a pantheon when she meets with it; 
and was very nigh going into hysterics when my cousin 
insisted one of his boys should be christened after our 
laureate, because the parson of the parish had told her 
that Pindar was the name of a pagan writer, famous for 
his love of boxing-matches, wrestling, and horse-racing. 


148 


SALMAGUNDI. 


To sum up all her qualifications in the shortest possible 
way, Mrs. Cockloft is, in the true sense of the phrase, a 
good sort of woman ; and I often congratulate my cousin 
on possessing her. The rest of the family consists of 
Jeremy Cockloft, the younger, who has already been 
mentioned, and the two Miss Cocklofts, or rather the 
young ladies, as they have been called by the servants 
time out of mind ; not that they are really young, the 
younger being somewhat on the shady side of thirty, but 
it has ever been the custom to call every member of the 
family young under fifty. In the southeast corner of the 
house I hold quiet possession of an old-fashioned apart¬ 
ment, where myself and my elbow-chair are suffered to 
amuse ourselves undisturbed, save at meal-times. This 
apartment old Cockloft has facetiously denominated 
Cousin Launce’s Paradise; and the good old gentleman 
has two or three favorite jokes about it, which are served 
up as regularly as the standing family dish of beef¬ 
steaks and onions, which every day maintains its station 
at the foot of the table, in defiance of mutton, poultry, or 
even venison itself. 

Though the family is apparently small, yet, like most 
old establishments of the kind, it does not want for hon¬ 
orary members. It is the city rendezvous of the Cock¬ 
lofts ; and we are continually enlivened by the company 
of half a score of uncles, aunts, and cousins, in the for¬ 
tieth remove, from all parts of the country, who profess a 
wonderful regard for Cousin Christopher, and overwhelm 


COUNTRY COUSINS. 


149 


every member of his household, down to the cook in the 
kitchen, with their attentions. We have for three weeks 
past been greeted with the company of two worthy old 
spinsters, who came down from the country to settle a 
lawsuit. They have done little else but retail stories of 
their village neighbors, knit stockings, and take snuff all 
the time they have been here ; the whole family are be¬ 
wildered with churchyard tales of sheeted ghosts, white 
horses without heads, and with large goggle eyes in their 
buttocks ; and not one of the old servants dare budge 
an inch after dark without a numerous company at his 
heels. My cousin’s visitors, however, always return his 
hospitality with due gratitude, and now and then remind 
him of their fraternal regard, by a present of a pot ol 
apple-sweetmeats, or a barrel of sour cider at Christmas. 
Jeremy displays himself to great advantage among his 
country relations, who all think him a prodigy, and often 
stand astounded, in “gaping wonderment,” at his natural 
philosophy. He lately frightened a simple old uncle 
almost out of his wits, by giving it as his opinion that 
the earth would one day be scorched to ashes by the ec¬ 
centric gambols of the famous comet, so much talked of; 
and positively asserted that this world revolved round 
the sun, and that the moon was certainly inhabited. 

The family mansion bears equal marks of antiquity 
with its inhabitants. As the Cocklofts are remarkable 
for their attachment to everything that has remained 
long in the family, they are bigoted toward their old 


150 


SALMAGUNDI. 


edifice, and I dare say would sooner have it crumble 
about their ears than abandon it. The consequence is, 
it has been so patched up and repaired, that it has 
become as full of whims and oddities as its tenants; 
requires to be nursed and humored like a gouty old 
codger of an alderman, and reminds one of the famous 
ship in which a certain admiral circumnavigated the 
globe, which was so patched and timbered, in order to 
preserve so great a curiosity, that at length not a par¬ 
ticle of the original remained. Whenever the wind 
blows, the old mansion makes a most perilous groaning; 
and every storm is sure to make a day’s work for the 
carpenter, who attends upon it as regularly as the family 
physician. This predilection for everything that has 
been long in the family shows itself in every particular. 
The domestics are all grown gray in the service of our 
house. We have a little, old, crusty, gray-headed negro, 
who has lived through two or three generations of the 
Cocklofts, and of course has become a personage of no 
little importance in the household. He calls all the 
family by their Christian names ; tells long stories about 
how he dandled them on his knee when they were chil¬ 
dren ; and is a complete Cockloft chronicle for the last 
seventy years. The family carriage was made in the last 
French war, and the old horses were most indubitably 
baled in Noah’s ark: resembling marvelously, in gravity 
of demeanor, those sober animals which may be seen any 
day of the year in the streets of Philadelphia walking 


WHIMWHAMa. 


161 


their snail’s pace, a dozen in a row, and harmoniously 
jingling their bells. Whimwhams are the inheritance of 
the Cocklofts, and every member of the household is a 
humorist sui generis^ from the master down to the foot¬ 
man. The very cats and dogs are humorists; and we 
have a little runty scoundrel of a cur, who whenever the 
church bells ring, will run to the street door, turn up his 
nose in the wind, and howl most piteously. Jeremy 
insists that this is owing to a peculiar delicacy in the 
organization of his ears, and supports his position by 
many learned arguments which nobody can understand; 
but I am of opinion that it is a mere Cockloft whim- 
wham, which the little cur indulges, being descended 
from a race of dogs which has flourished in the family 
ever since the time of my grandfather. A propensity to 
save everything that bears the stamp of family antiquity 
has accumulated an abundance of trumpery and rubbish 
with which the house is encumbered from the cellar to 
the garret; and every room, and closet, and corner is 
crammed with three-legged chairs, clocks without hands, 
swords without scabbards, cocked hats, broken candle¬ 
sticks, and looking-glasses with frames carved into fan¬ 
tastic shapes of feathered sheep, woolly birds, and other 
animals that have no name except in books of heraldry 
The ponderous mahogany chairs in the parlors are oi 
such unwieldy proportions that it is quite a serious 
undertaking to gallant one of them across the room, and 
sometimes make a most equivocal noise when you sit 


162 


SALMAGUNDI. 


down in a hurry; the mantelpiece is decorated with little 
lacquered earthen shepherdesses, some of which are 
without toes, and others without noses; and the fireplace 
is garnished out with Dutch tiles, exhibiting a great 
variety of Scripture pieces, which my good old soul of a 
cousin takes infinite delight in explaining. Poor Jeremy 
hates them as he does poison; for, while a younker, he 
was obliged by his mother to learn the history of a tile 
every Sunday morning before she would permit him to 
join his playmates; this was a terrible affair for Jeremy, 
who, by the time he had learned the last, had forgotten 
the first, and was obliged to begin again. He assured me 
the other day, with a round college oath, that if the old 
stouse stood out till he inherited it, he vrould have these 
tiles taken out, and ground into powder, for the perfect 
hatred he bore them. 

My cousin Christopher enjoys unlimited authority in 
the mansion of his forefathers; he is truly what may be 
termed a hearty old blade; has a florid, sunshine coun¬ 
tenance ; and if you will only praise his wine and laugh 
at his long stories, himself and his house are heartily at 
your service. The first condition is indeed easily com¬ 
plied with; for, to tell the truth, his wine is excellent; 
but his stories, being not of the best, and often repeated, 
are apt to create a disposition to yawn—being, in ad¬ 
dition to their other qualities, most unreasonably long. 
His prolixity is the more afflicting to me, since I have all 
his stories by heart; and when he enters upon one, it 


HOSPITALITY. 


153 


reminds me of Newark causeway, where the traveller 
sees the end at a distance of several miles. To the great 
misfortune of all his acquaintance, Cousin Cockloft is 
blest with a most provokingly retentive memory; and can 
give day and date, and name, and age, and circumstance, 
with the most unfeeling precision. These, however, are 
but trivial foibles, forgotten, or remembered only with a 
kind of tender, respectful pity, by those who know with 
what a rich, redundant harvest of kindness and gene¬ 
rosity his heart is stored. It would delight you to see 
with what social gladness he welcomes a visitor into his 
house; and the poorest man that enters his door never 
leaves it without a cordial invitation to sit down, and 
drink a glass of wine. By the honest farmers round his 
country-seat he is looked up to with love and reverence; 
they never pass him by without his inquiring after the 
welfare of their families, and receiving a cordial shake of 
his liberal hand. There are but two classes of people 
who are thrown out of the reach of his hospitality, and 
these are Frenchmen and Democrats. The old gentleman 
considers it treason against the majesty of good breed¬ 
ing to speak to any visitor with his hat on ; but the 
moment a Democrat enters his door, he forthwith bids 
his man Pompey bring his hat, puts it on his head, and 
salutes him with an appalling “Well, sir, what do you 
want of me ? ” 

He has a profound contempt for Frenchmen, and 
firmly believes that they eat nothing but frogs and 


154 


SALMAGUNDI. 


soupe-maigre in their own country. This unlucky prej¬ 
udice is partly owing to my great-aunt Pamela having 
been many years ago run away with by a French count, 
who turned out to be the son of a generation of barbers; 
and partly to a little vivid spark of toryism which burns 
in a secret corner of his heart. He was a loyal subject 
of the crown, has hardly yet recovered the shock of 
independence; and, though he does not care to own it, 
always does honor to his majesty’s birthday, by inviting 
a few cavaliers, like himself, to dinner, and gracing his 
table with more than ordinary festivity. If by chance 
the Eevolution is mentioned before him, my cousin 
shakes his head; and you may see, if you take good 
note, a lurking smile of contempt in the corner of his eye 
which marks a decided disapprobation of the sound. He 
once, in the fullness of his heart, observed to me that 
green peas were a month later than they were under the 
old government. But the most eccentric manifestation of 
loyalty he ever gave was making a voyage to Halifax for 
no other reason under heaven but to hear his majesty 
prayed for in church, as he used to be here formerly. 
This he never could be brought fairly to acknowledge; 
but it is a certain fact, I assure you. It is not a little 
singular that a person so much given to long story-tell¬ 
ing as my cousin, should take a liking to another of the 
same character; but so it is with the old gentleman. 
His prime favorite and companion is Will Wizard, who 
is almost a member of the family; and will sit before the 


COCKLOFT LADIES. 


155 


fire, with his feet on the massy andirons, and smoke his 
cigar, and screw his phiz, and spin away tremendous long 
stories of his travels, for a whole evening, to the great 
delight of the old gentleman and lady, and especially of 
the young ladies, who, like Desdemona, do “ seriously 
incline,” and listen to him with innumerable “ O dears,” 
“ Is it possibles,” “ Goody graciouses,” and look upon 
him as a second Sindbad the sailor. 

The Misses Cockloft, whose pardon I crave for not 
having particularly introduced them before, are a pair of 
delectable damsels, who, having purloined and locked up 
the family Bible, pass for just what age they please to 
plead guilty to. Barbara, the eldest, has long since 
resigned the character of a belle, and adopted that staid, 
sober, demure, snuff-taking air becoming her years and 
discretion. She is a good-natured soul, whom I never 
saw in a passion but once, and that was occasioned by 
seeing an old favorite beau of hers kiss the hand of a 
pretty, blooming girl; and, in truth, she only got angry 
because, as she very properly said, it was spoiling the 
child. Her sister Margery, or Maggie, as she is famil¬ 
iarly termed, seemed disposed to maintain her post as a 
belle, until a few months since; when accidentally hear¬ 
ing a gentleman observe that she broke very fast, she 
suddenly left off going to the assembly, took a cat into 
high favor, and began to rail at the forward pertness of 
young misses. From that moment I set her down for 
an old maid; and so she is. “by the hand of my body.” 


156 


SALMAGUNDI. 


The young ladies are still visited by some half dozen of 
veteran beaux, who grew and flourished in the haut tony 
when the Miss Cocklofts were quite children; but have 
been brushed rather rudely by the hand of time, who, to 
say the truth, can do almost anything but make people 
young. They are, notwithstanding, still warm candidates 
for female favor; look venerably tender, and repeat over 
and over the same honeyed speeches and sugared senti¬ 
ments to the little belles that they poured so profusely 
into the ears of their mothers. I beg leave here to give 
notice that by this sketch I mean no reflection on old 
bachelors; on the contrary, I hold that next to a fine 
lady, the ne plus ultra, an old bachelor to be the most 
charming being upon earth; inasmuch as by living in 
“single blessedness,” he of course does just as he 
pleases; and if he has any genius, must acquire a plenti¬ 
ful stock of whims, and oddities, and whalebone habits; 
without which I esteem a man to be mere beef without 
mustard—good for nothing at all but to run on errands 
for ladies, take boxes at the theatre, and act the part of 
a screen at tea-parties, or a walking-stick in the streets. 
I merely speak of these old boys who infest public 
walks, pounce upon ladies from every corner of the 
street, and worry, and frisk, and amble, and caper before, 
behind, and round about the fashionable belles, like old 
ponies in a pasture, striving to supply the absence of 
youthful whim and hilarity, by grimaces and grins, and 
artificial vivacity. I have sometimes seen one of these 


FAMILY SYMPATHY. 


157 


“ reverend youths ” endeavoring to elevate his wintry 
passions into something like love, by basking in the sun¬ 
shine of beauty; and it did remind me of an old moth, 
attempting to fly through a pane of glass toward a light, 
without ever approaching near enough to warm itself, or 
scorch its wings. 

Never, I firmly believe, did there exist a family that 
went more by tangents than the Cocklofts. Everything 
is governed by whim ; and if one member starts a new 
freak, away all the rest follow on like wild geese in a 
string. As the family, the servants, the horses, cats, and 
dogs have all grown old together, they have accommo¬ 
dated themselves to each other’s habits completely; and 
though every body of them is full of odd points, angles, 
rhomboids, and ins and outs, yet somehow or other they 
harmonize together like so many straight lines; and it is 
truly a grateful and refreshing sight to see them agree so 
well. Should one, however, get out of tune, it is like a 
cracked fiddle, the whole concern is ajar; you perceive 
a cloud over every brow in the house, and even the old 
chairs seem to creak, affetuoso. If my cousin, as he is 
rather apt to do, betray any symptoms of vexation or 
uneasiness, no matter about what, he is worried to 
death with inquiries, which answer no other end but to 
demonstrate the good will of the inquirer, and put him 
in a passion; for everybody knows how provoking it is to 
be cut short in a fit of the blues, by an impertinent ques¬ 
tion about “ what is the matter ? ” when a man can’t tell 


158 


SALMAGUNDI. 


himself. I remember a few months ago the old gentle¬ 
man came home in quite a squall; kicked poor Caesar 
the mastiff, out of his way, as he came through the hall, 
threw his hat on the table with most violent emphasis, 
and pulling out his box, took three huge pinches of snuff, 
and threw a fourth into the cat’s eyes as he sat purring 
his astonishment at the fireside. This was enough to set 
the body politic going; Mrs. Cockloft began “ my dearing” 
it as fast as tongue could move; the young ladies took 
each a stand at an elbow of his chair; Jeremy marshaled 
in the rear; the servants came tumbling in; the mastiff 
put up an inquiring nose ; and even grimalkin, after he 
had cleaned his whiskers and finished sneezing, discov¬ 
ered indubitable signs of sympathy. After the most af¬ 
fectionate inquiries on all sides, it turned out that my 
cousin, in crossing the street, had got his silk stockings 
bespattered with mud by a coach, which, it seems, be¬ 
longed to a dashing gentleman who had formerly sup¬ 
plied the family with hot rolls and muffins! Mrs. Cock¬ 
loft thereupon turned up her eyes, and the young ladies 
their noses; and it would have edified a whole congrega¬ 
tion to hear the conversation which took place concern¬ 
ing the insolence of upstarts, and the vulgarity of would- 
be gentlemen and ladies, who strive to emerge from low 
life by dashing about in carriages to pay a visit two 
doors off; giving parties to people who laugh at them, 
and cutting all their old friends. 


THEATRICS, 


159 


THEATRICS. 

BY WILLIAM WIZARD, ESQ. 

J" WENT a few evenings since to the theatre, accom¬ 
panied by my friend ’Sbidlikens, the cockney, who is 
a man deeply read in the history of Cinderella, Valen¬ 
tine and Orson, Blue Beard, and all those recondite 
works so necessary to enable a man to understand the 
modern drama. ’Sbidlikens is one of those intolerable 
fellows who will never be pleased with anything until he 
has turned and twisted it divers ways, to see if it cor¬ 
responds with his notions of congruity; and as he is 
none of the quickest in his ratiocinations, he will some¬ 
times come out with his approbation, when everybody else 
has forgotten the cause which excited it. ’Sbidlikens 
is, moreover, a great critic, for he finds fault with every¬ 
thing; this being what I understand by modern criti¬ 
cism. He, however, is pleased to acknowledge that our 
theatre is not so despicable, all things considered; and 
really thinks Cooper one of our best actors. The play 
was “ Othello; ” and to speak my mind freely, I think I 
have seen it performed much worse in my time. The 
actors, I firmly believe, did their best; and whenever 
this is the case, no man has a right to find fault with 
them, in my opinion. Little Kutherford, the Koscius of 
the Philadelphia theatre, looked as big as possible ; and 
what he wanted in size he made up in frowning. I like 


160 


SALMAGUNDI. 


frowning in tragedy; and if a man but keeps his fore¬ 
head in proper wrinkle, talks big, and takes long strides 
on the stage, I always set him down as a great tragedian; 
and so does my friend ’Sbidlikens. 

Before the first act was over, ’Sbidlikens began to 
flourish his critical wooden sword like a harlequin. He 
first found fault with Cooper for not having made himself 
as black as a negro, “ for,” said he, “ that Othello was 
an arrant black, appears from several expressions of the 
play; as for instance, ‘ thick lips,’ ‘ sooty bosom,’ and a 
variety of others. I am inclined to think,” continued he, 
“ that Othello was an Egyptian by birth, from the circum¬ 
stance of the handkerchief given to his mother by a na¬ 
tive of that country; and, if so, he certainly was as black 
as my hat; for Herodotus has told us, that the Egyptians 
had flat noses and frizzled hair—a clear proof that they 
were all negroes.” He did not confine his strictures to 
this single error of the actor, but went on to run him 
down in toto. In this he was seconded by a red-hot 
Philadelphian, who proved by a string of most eloquent 
logical puns, that Fennel was unquestionably in every re¬ 
spect a better actor than Cooper. I knew it was in vain 
to contend with them, since I recollected a most obsti¬ 
nate trial of skill these two great Roscii had last spring in 
Philadelphia. Cooper brandished his blood-stained dag¬ 
ger at the theatre—Fennel flourished his snuff-box and 
shook his wig at the Lyceum, and the unfortunate Philadel¬ 
phians were a long time at a loss to decide which deserved 


SETTLING A DISPUTE. 


161 


the palm. The literati were inclined to give it to Cooper, 
because his name was the most fruitful in puns; but then, 
on the other side, it was contended that Fennel was the 
best Greek scholar. Scarcely was the town of Strasburgh 
in a greater hubbub about the courteous stranger’s nose ; 
and it was well that the doctors of the University did not 
get into the dispute, else it might have become a battle 
of folios. At length, after much excellent argument had 
been expended on both sides, recourse was had to Cock¬ 
er’s Arithmetic and a carpenter’s rule; the rival candi¬ 
dates were both measured by one of the most steady¬ 
handed critics, and by the most exact measurement it 
was proved that Mr. Fennel was the greater actor by 
three inches and a quarter. Since this demonstration of 
inferiority. Cooper has never been able to hold up his 
head in Philadelphia. 

In order to change a conversation in which my favorite 
suffered so much, I made some inquiries of the Philadel¬ 
phian concerning the two heroes of his theatre, Wood and 
Cain; but I had scarcely mentioned their names, when, 
whack! he threw a whole handful of puns in my face; 
’twas like a bowl of cold water. I turned on my heel, 
had recourse to my tobacco-box, and said no more about 
Wood and Cain; nor will I ever more, if I can help it, 
mention their names in the presence of a Philadelphian. 
Would that they could leave off punning ! for I love 
every soul of them, with a cordial affection, warm as their 
own generous hearts, and boundless as their hospitality. 

11 


162 


8ALMAQUNDL 


During the performance, I kept an eye on the coun¬ 
tenance of my friend the cockney; because, having come 
all the way from England, and having seen Kemble once, 
on a visit which he made from the button-manufactory 
to Lunnun^ I thought his phiz might serve as a kind of 
thermometer to direct my manifestations of applause or 
disapprobation. I might as well have looked at the 
backside of his head; for I could not, with all my peer¬ 
ing, perceive by his features that he was pleased with 
anything—except himself. His hat was twitched a little 
on one side, as much as to say, “Demme, I’m your 
sorts ! ” he was sucking the end of a little stick; he was 
a “gemman” from head to foot; but as to his face, there 
was no more expression in it than in the face of a Chi¬ 
nese lady on a tea-cup. On Cooper’s giving one of his 
gunpowder explosions of passion, I exclaimed, “Fine, 
very fine ! ” “ Pardon me,” said my friend ’Sbidlikens, 

“ this is damnable !—the gesture, my dear sir—only look 
at the gesture! how horrible ! do you not observe that 
the actor slaps his forehead, whereas, the passion not 
having arrived at the proper height, he should only have 
slapped his—pocket-flap? this figure of rhetoric is a 
most important stage-trick, and the proper management 
of it is what peculiarly distinguishes the great actor 
from the mere plodding mechanical buffoon. Different 
degrees of passion require different slaps, which we 
critics have reduced to a perfect manual, improving upon 
the principle adopted by Frederic of Prussia, by decid- 


COCKNEY CRITICISM. 


163 


ing that an actor, like a soldier, is a mere machine; as 
thus—the actor, for a minor burst of passion, merely 
slaps his pocket-hole ; good ! for a major burst, he slaps 
his breast; very good! but for a burst maximus, he 
whacks away at his forehead, like a brave fellow; this is 
excellent; nothing can be finer than an exit, slapping the 
forehead from one end of the stage to the other.” “Ex¬ 
cept,” replied I, “ one of those slaps on the breast, which 
I have sometimes admired in some of our fat heroes and 
heroines, which make their whole body shake and quiver 
like a pyramid of jelly.” 

The Philadelphian had listened to this conversation 
with profound attention, and appeared delighted with 
’Sbidlikens’ mechanical strictures; ’twas natural enough 
in a man who chose an actor as he would a grenadier. 
He took the opportunity of a pause to enter into a long 
conversation with my friend; and was receiving a pro¬ 
digious fund of information concerning the true mode oi 
emphasizing conjunctions, shifting scenes, snuffing can¬ 
dles, and making thunder and lightning, better than you 
can get every day from the sky, as practiced at the royal 
theatres; when, as ill luck would have it, they happened 
to run their heads full butt against a new reading. Now 
this was “ a stumper,” as our old friend Paddle would 
say; for the Philadelphians are as inveterate new-read¬ 
ing hunters as the cockneys; and, for aught I know, as 
well skilled in finding them out. The Philadelphian 
thereupon met the cockney on his own ground, and at it 


164 


SALMAOJJNDL 


they went, like two inveterate curs at a bone. ’Sbid- 
likens quoted Theobald, Hanmer, and a host of learned 
commentators, who have pinned themselves on the sleeve 
of Shakespeare’s immortality, and made the old bard, 
like General Washington, in General 'Washington’s life, 
a most diminutive figure in his own book; his opponent 
chose Johnson for his bottle-holder, and thundered him 
forward like an elephant to bear down the ranks of the 
enemy. I was not long in discovering that these two 
precious judges had got hold of that unlucky passage of 
Shakespeare which, like a straw, has tickled, and puz¬ 
zled, and confounded many a somniferous buzzard of 
past and present time. It was the celebrated wish of 
Desdemona, that heaven had made her such a man as 
Othello. ’Sbidlikens insisted that “the gentle Desde¬ 
mona” merely wished for such a man for a husband, 
which in all conscience was a modest wish enough, and 
very natural in a young lady who might possibly have 
had a predilection for fiat noses; like a certain philo¬ 
sophical great man of our day. The Philadelphian con¬ 
tended, with all the vehemence of a member of Congress, 
moving the House to have “whereas,” or “also,” or 
“ nevertheless ” struck out of a bill, that the young lady 
wished heaven had made her a man instead of a woman, 
in order that she might have an opportunity of seeing 
the “ anthropophagi, and the men whose heads do grow 
beneath their shoulders; ” which was a very natural 
wish, considering the curiosity of the sex. On being 


NATURAL ACTING. 


165 


referred to, I incontinently decided in favor of the hon¬ 
orable member who spoke last; inasmuch as I think it 
was a very foolish, and therefore very natural, wish for a 
young lady to make before a man she wished to marry. 
It was, moreover, an indication of the violent inclination 
she felt to wear the breeches, which was afterward, in all 
probability, gratified, if we may judge from the title of 
‘‘ our captain’s captain,” given her by Cassio—a phrase 
which, in my opinion, indicates that Othello was, at that 
time, most ignominiously henpecked. I believe my argu¬ 
ments staggered ’Sbidlikens himself, for he looked con¬ 
foundedly queer, and said not another word on the 
subject. 

A little while after, at it he went again on another 
tack, and began to find fault with Cooper’s manner of 
dying; “ it was not natural,” he said; for it had lately 
been demonstrated by a learned doctor of physic, that 
when a man is mortally stabbed, he ought to take a 
flying leap of at least five feet, and drop down “ dead as 
a salmon in a fishmonger’s basket.” Whenever a man, in 
the predicament above mentioned, departed from this 
fundamental rule, by falling flat down like a log, and 
rolling about for two or three minutes, making speeches 
all the time, the said learned doctor maintained that it 
was owing to the waywardness of the human mind, 
which delighted in flying in the face of nature, and dying 
in defiance of all her established rules. I replied, “ for 
my part I held that every man had a right of dying in 


166 


SALMAOUNBI. 


whatever position he pleased; and that the mode of 
doing it depended altogether on the peculiar character 
of the person going to die. A Persian could not die in 
peace unless he had his face turned to the east; a 
Mahometan would always choose to have his toward 
Mecca; a Frenchman might prefer this mode of throwing 
a somerset, but Mynheer Van Brumblebottom, the Ros¬ 
cius of Rotterdam, always chose to thunder down on his 
seat of honor whenever he received a mortal wound. 
Being a man of ponderous dimensions, this had a most 
electrifying effect, for the whole theatre ‘shook like 
Olympus at the nod of Jove.’ ” The Philadelphian was 
immediately inspired with a pun, and swore that Myn¬ 
heer must be great in a dying scene, since he knew how 
to make the most of his latter end. 

It is the inveterate cry of stage critics, that an actor 
does not perform the character naturally, if, by chance, 
he happens not to die exactly as they would have him. 
I think the exhibition of a play at Pekin would suit 
them exactly; and I wish, with all my heart, that they 
would go there and see one; nature is there imitated 
with the most scrupulous exactness in every trifling 
particular. Here an unhappy lady or gentleman, who 
happens, unluckily, to be poisoned or stabbed, is left 
on the stage to writhe and groan, and make faces at the 
audience, until the poet pleases they should die; while 
the honest folks of the dramatis persorwe, bless their 
hearts! all crowd round and yield most potent assist- 


CHOW-CHOW. 


167 


ance, by crying and lamenting most vociferously! The 
audience, tender souls, pull out their white pocket-hand¬ 
kerchiefs, wipe their eyes, blow their noses, and swear it 
is natural as life, while the poor actor is left to die with¬ 
out common Christian comfort. In China, on the con¬ 
trary, the first thing they do is to run for the doctor 
and tchoouCy or notary. The audience are entertained 
throughout the fifth act with a learned consultation of 
physicians, and if the patient must die, he does it secun¬ 
dum arteniy and always is allowed time to make his will. 
The celebrated Chow-Chow was the completest hand I 
ever saw at killing himself; he always carried under his 
robe a bladder of bull’s blood, which, when he gave the 
mortal stab, spirted out to the infinite delight of the 
audience. Not that the ladies of China are more fond of 
the sight of blood than those of our own country; on the 
contrary, they are remarkably sensitive in this partic¬ 
ular ; and we are told by the great Linkum Fidelius, that 
the beautiful Ninny Consequa, one of the ladies of the em¬ 
peror’s seraglio, once fainted away on seeing a favorite 
slave’s nose bleed; since which time, refinement has been 
carried to such a pitch that a buskined hero is not allowed 
to run himself through the body in the face of the audi¬ 
ence. The immortal Chow-Chow, in conformity to this 
absurd prejudice, whenever he plays the part of Othello, 
which is reckoned his masterpiece, always keeps a bold 
front, stabs himself slyly behind, and is dead before any¬ 
body suspects that he has given the mortal blow. 


168 


SALMAOUNDL 


P. S.—Just as this was going to press, I was informed 
by Evergreen that Othello had not been performed here 
the Lord knows when; no matter, I am not the first that 
has criticised a play without seeing it, and this critique 
will answer for the last performance, if that was a dozen 
years ago. 


NO. VII.—SATUKDAT, APKIL 4, 1807. 


LETTER FROM MUSTAPHA RUB-A-DUB KELI KHAN, TO 
ASEM HACCHEM, PRINCIPAL SLAVE-DRIVER TO HIS 
HIGHNESS THE BASHAW OF TRIPOLI. 

PROMISED in a former letter, good Asem, 
that I would furnish thee with a few hints re¬ 
specting the nature of the government bj which 
I am held in durance. Though my inquiries for that 
purpose have been industrious, yet I am not perfectly 
satisfied with their results; for thou mayst easily im¬ 
agine that the vision of a captive is overshadowed by the 
mists of illusion and prejudice, and the horizon of his 
speculations must be limited indeed. I find that the 
people of this country are strangely at a loss to deter¬ 
mine the nature and proper character of their govern¬ 
ment. Even their dervises are extremely in the dark as 
to this particular, and are continually indulging in the 
most preposterous disquisitions on the subject; some 
have insisted that it savors of ah aristocracy; others 
maintain that it is a pure democracy; and a third set 
of theorists declare absolutely that it is nothing more 
or less than a mobocracy. The latter, I must confess, 
though still wide in error, have come nearest to the 

169 







170 


8ALMA0UNDL 


truth. You of course must understand the meaning of 
these different words, as they are derived from the 
ancient Greek language, and bespeak loudly the verbal 
poverty of these poor infidels, who cannot utter a learned 
phrase without laying the dead languages under contri¬ 
bution. A man, my dear Asem, who talks good sense in 
his native tongue, is held in tolerable estimation in this 
country; but a fool, who clothes his feeble ideas in a 
foreign or antique garb, is bowed down to as a literary 
prodigy. While I conversed with these people in plain 
English, I was but little attended to ; but the moment I 
prosed away in Greek, every one looked up to me with 
veneration as an oracle. 

Although the dervises differ widely in the particulars 
above mentioned, yet they all agree in terming their 
government one of the most pacific in the known world. 
I cannot help pitying their ignorance, and smiling, at 
times, to see into what ridiculous errors those nations 
will wander, who are unenlightened by the precepts of 
Mahomet, our divine prophet, and uninstructed by the 
five hundred and forty-nine books of wisdom of the im¬ 
mortal Ibrahim Hassan al Fusti. To call this nation 
pacific! Most preposterous ! it reminds me of the title 
assumed by the sheik of that murderous tribe of wild 
Arabs, that desolate the valleys of Belsaden, who styles 
himself “ Star of Courtesy—Beam of the Mercy-Seat.” 

The simple truth of the matter is, that these people are 
totally ignorant of their own true character ; for, accord- 


OF GOVERNMENT. 


171 


ing to the best of my observation, they are the most war¬ 
like, and I must say, the most savage nation that I have 
as yet discovered among all the barbarians. They are 
not only at war, in their own way, with almost every 
nation on earth, but they are at the same time engaged 
in the most complicated knot of civil wars that ever 
infested any poor unhappy country on which Allah has 
denounced his malediction! 

To let thee at once into a secret, which is unknown to 
these people themselves, their government is a pure un¬ 
adulterated hgocrcwy^ or government of words. The 
whole nation does everything viva voce, or by word of 
mouth; and in this manner is one of the most military 
nations in existence. Every man who has what is here 
called the gift of the gab, that is, a plentiful stock of ver¬ 
bosity, becomes a soldier outright; and is forever in a 
militant state. The country is entirely defended vi et 
lingud; that is to say, by force of tongues. The account 
which I lately wrote to our friend, the snorer, respecting 
the immense army of six hundred men, makes nothing 
against this observation; that formidable body being 
kept up, as I have already observed, only to amuse their 
fair countrywomen by their splendid appearance and 
nodding plumes ; and are, by way of distinction, denomi¬ 
nated the “ defenders of the fair.” 

In a logocracy thou well knowest there is little or no 
occasion for fire-arms, or any such destructive weapons. 
Every offensive or defensive measure is enforced by 


172 


SALMAOUNDL 


wordy battle, and paper war; he who has the longest 
tongue or readiest quill is sure to gain the victory—will 
carry horror, abuse, and ink-shed into the very trenches 
of the enemy ; and, without mercy or remorse, put men, 
women, and children to the point of the—pen! 

There is still preserved in this country some remains 
of that Gothic spirit of knight-errantry which so much 
annoyed the faithful in the middle ages of the Hegira. 
As, notwithstanding their martial disposition, they are 
a people much given to commerce and agriculture, and 
must, necessarily, at certain seasons be engaged in these 
employments, they have accommodated themselves by 
appointing knights, or constant warriors, incessant brawl¬ 
ers, similar to those who, in former ages, swore eternal 
enmity to the followers of our divine prophet. These 
knights, denominated editors or slang-wTiangers, are ap¬ 
pointed in every town, village, or district, to carry on 
both foreign and internal warfare, and may be said to 
keep up a constant firing “ in words.” O my friend, could 
you but witness the enormities sometimes committed by 
these tremendous slang-whangers, your very turban would 
rise with horror and astonishment. I have seen them ex¬ 
tend their ravages even into the kitchens of their oppo¬ 
nents, and annihilate the very cook with a blast; and I 
do assure thee, I beheld one of these warriors attack a 
most venerable bashaw, and at one stroke of his pen lay 
him open from the waistband of his breeches to his chin! 

There has been a civil war carrying on with great vio- 


A FAMOUS QUARREL. 


173 


lence for some time past, in consequence of a conspiracy, 
among the higher classes, to dethrone his highness, the 
present bashaw, and place another in his stead. I was 
mistaken when I formerly asserted to thee that this dis¬ 
satisfaction arose from his wearing red breeches. It is 
true, the nation have long held that color in great detes¬ 
tation, in consequence of a dispute they had some twenty 
years since with the barbarians of the British Islands. 
The color, however, is again rising into favor, as the la¬ 
dies have transferred it to their heads from the bashaw’s 

-body. The true reason, I am told, is, that the bashaw 

absolutely refuses to believe in the deluge, and in the 
story of Balaam’s ass; maintaining that this animal was 
never yet permitted to talk except in a genuine logoc- 
racy; where, it is true, his voice may often be heard, and 
is listened to with reverence, as “ the voice of the sover¬ 
eign people.” Nay, so far did he carry his obstinacy, that 
he absolutely invited a professed antediluvian from the 
Gallic empire, who illuminated the whole country with his 
principles—and his nose. This was enough to set the na¬ 
tion in a blaze—every slang-whanger resorted to his tongue 
or his pen; and for seven years have they carried on a most 
inhuman war, in which volumes of words have been ex¬ 
pended, oceans of ink have been shed, nor has any mercy 
been shown to age, sex, or condition. Every day have these 
slang-whangers made furious attacks on each other and 
upon their respective adherents ; discharging their heavy 
artillery, consisting of large sheets, loaded with scoundrel! 


174 


SALMAOUNDL 


villain! liar! rascal! numskull! nincompoop! dunderhead! 
wiseacre! blockhead! jackass! and I do swear by my beard, 
though I know thou wilt scarcely credit me, that in some 
of these skirmishes the grand bashaw himself has been wo- 
fully pelted! yea, most ignominiously pelted! and yet have 
these talking desperadoes escaped without the bastinado! 

Every now and then a slang-whanger, who has a longer 
head, or rather a longer tongue than the rest, will ele¬ 
vate his piece and discharge a shot quite across the 
ocean, leveled at the head of the emperor of France, the 
king of England, or, wouldst thou believe it, O Asem, 
even at his sublime highness the bashaw of Tripoli! 
These long pieces are loaded with single ball, or lan¬ 
guage, as tyrant! usurper! robber! tiger! monster! and 
thou mayst well suppose they occasion great distress 
and dismay in the camps of the enemy, and are marvel¬ 
ously annoying to the crowned heads at which they are 
directed. The slang-whanger, though perhaps the mere 
champion of a village, having fired off his shot, struts 
about with great self-congratulation, chuckling at the 
prodigious bustle he must have occasioned, and seems 
to ask of every stranger, “ Well, sir, what do they think 
of me in Europe ? ” * This is sufficient to show you tha 

NOTE, BY WILLIAM WIZARD, ESQ. 

* The sage Mustapha, when he wrote the above paragraph, had prob¬ 
ably in his eye the following anecdote, related either by Linkum Fidelius, 
or Josephus Millerius, vulgarly called Joe Miller, of facetious memory. 

The captain of a slave-vessel, on his first landing on the coast of 


SLANG- WHANGING. 


175 


manner in which these bloody, or rather windy fellows 
fight; it is the only mode allowable in a logocracy or 
government of words. I would also observe that their 
civil wars have a thousand ramifications. 

While the fury of the battle rages in the metropolis, 
every little town and village has a distinct broil, growing 
like excrescences out of the grand national altercation, 
or rather agitating within it, like those complicated 
pieces of mechanism where there is a “ wheel within a 
wheel.” 

But in nothing is the verbose nature of this govern¬ 
ment more evident than in its grand national divan, or 
Congress, where the laws are framed; this is a bluster¬ 
ing, windy assembly, where everything is carried by noise, 
tumult, and debate; for thou must know, that the mem¬ 
bers of this assembly do not meet together to find wis¬ 
dom in the multitude of counselors, but to wrangle, call 
each other hard names, and hear themselves talk. When 
the Congress opens, the bashaw first sends them a long 
message, i. e., a huge mass of Tvords —vox et proeterea nihil. 


Guinea, observed under a palm-tree a negro chief, sitting most majesti¬ 
cally on a stump ; while two women, with wooden spoons, were adminis¬ 
tering his favorite pottage of boiled rice ; which, as his imperial majesty 
was a little greedy, would part of it escape the place of destination and 
run down his chin. The watchful attendants were particularly careful 
to intercept these scape-grace particles, and return them to their proper 
port of entry. As the captain approached, in order to admire this curious 
exhibition of royalty, the great chief clapped his hands to his sides, and 
saluted his visitor with the following pompous question—“Well, sirl 
what do they say of me in England ? ” 


176 


SALMAGUNDI. 


all meaning nothing; because it only tells them what 
they perfectly know already. Then the whole assembly 
are thrown into a ferment, and have a long talk about 
the quantity of words that are to be returned in answer 
to this message ; and here arise many disputes about the 
correction and alteration of “if so be’s” and “how so 
ever’s.” A month, perhaps, is spent in thus determining 
the precise number of words the answer shall contain; 
and then another, most probably, in concluding whether 
it shall be carried to the bashaw on foot, on horseback, 
or in coaches. Having settled this weighty matter, they 
next fall to work upon the message itself, and hold as 
much chattering over it as so many magpies over an 
addled egg. This done, they divide the message into 
small portions, and deliver them into the hands of little 
juntos of talkers, called committees; these juntos have 
each a world of talking about their respective para¬ 
graphs, and return the results to the grand divan, which 
forthwith falls to and retalks the matter over more ear¬ 
nestly than ever. Now, after all, it is an even chance that 
the subject of this prodigious arguing, quarreling, and 
talking is an affair of no importance, and ends entirely in 
smoke. May it not then be said, the whole nation have 
been talking to no purpose ? The people, in fact, seem 
to be somewhat conscious of this propensity to talk, by 
which they are characterized, and have a favorite prov¬ 
erb on the subject, viz., “ all talk and no cider; ” this is 
particularly applied when their Congress, or assembly 


A MIOHTT WINDMILL. 


177 


of all the sage chatterers of the nation, have chattered 
through a whole session, in a time of great peril and 
momentous event, and have done nothing but exhibit the 
length of their tongues and the emptiness of their heads. 
This has been the case more than once, my friend; and 
to let thee into a secret, I have been told in confidence, 
that there have been absolutely several old women smug¬ 
gled into Congress from different parts of the empire; 
who, having once got on the breeches, as thou mayst 
well imagine, have taken the lead in debate, and over¬ 
whelmed the whole assembly with their garrulity; for 
my part, as times go, I do not see why old women should 
not be as eligible to public councils as old men who 
possess their dispositions; they certainly are eminently 
possessed of the qualifications requisite to govern in a 
logocracy. 

Nothing, as I have repeatedly insisted, can be done in 
this country without talking; but they take so long to talk 
over a measure, that by the time they have determined 
upon adopting it, the period has elapsed winch was proper 
for carrying it into effect. Unhappy nation! thus torn to 
pieces by intestine talks ! never, I fear, will it be restored 
to tranquillity and silence. Words are but breath; 

breath is but air; and air put into motion is nothing but 
wind. This vast empire, therefore, may be compared to 
nothing more or less than a mighty windmill, and the or- 
itors, and the chatterers, and the slang-whangers, are the 
oreezes that put it in motion ; unluckily, however, they 
12 


178 


8ALMAGUNDL 


are apt to blow different ways, and their blasts counter¬ 
acting each other—the mill is perplexed, the wheels 
stand still, the grist is unground, and the miller and his 
family starved. 

Everything partakes of the windy nature of the govern¬ 
ment. In case of any domestic grievance, or an insult 
from a foreign foe, the people are all in a buzz; town- 
meetings are immediately held where the quidnuncs of 
the city repair, each like an Atlas, with the cares of the 
whole nation upon his shoulders, each resolutely bent 
upon saving his country, and each swelling and strutting 
like a turkey-cock; puffed up with words, and wind, and 
nonsense. After bustling, and buzzing, and bawling for 
some time, and after each man has shown himself to be 
indubitably the greatest personage in the meeting, they 
pass a string of resolutions, i. e. words, which were pre¬ 
viously prepared for the purpose; these resolutions are 
whimsically denominated the sense of the meeting, and 
are sent off for the instruction of the reigning bashaw, 
who receives them graciously, puts them into his red 
breeches pocket, forgets to read them—and so the matter 
ends. 

As to his highness, the present bashaw, who is at the 
very top of the logocracy, never was a dignitary better 
qualified for his station. He is a man of superlative 
ventosity, and comparable to nothing but a huge bladder 
of wind. He talks of vanquishing all opposition by the 
force of reason and philosophy; throws hia gauntlet at 


THE BASHAW. 


179 


all the nations of the earth, and defies them to meet him 
—on the field of argument! Is the national dignity in¬ 
sulted, a case in which his highness of Tripoli would im¬ 
mediately call forth his forces, the bashaw of America— 
utters a speech. Does a foreign invader molest the com¬ 
merce in the very mouth of the harbors, an insult which 
would induce his highness of Tripoli to order out his 
fleets, his highness of America—utters a speech. Are 
the free citizens of America dragged from on board the 
vessels of their country, and forcibly detained in the war 
ships of another—his highness utters a speech. Is a 
peaceable citizen killed by the marauders of a foreign 
power, on the very shores of his country—his highness 
utters a speech. Does an alarming insurrection break 
out in a distant part of the empire—his highness utters a 
speech !—nay, more, for here he shows his “ energies ”— 
he most intrepidly despatches a courier on horseback, 
and orders him to ride one hundred and twenty miles a 
day, with a most formidable army of proclamations, i. e. a 
collection of words, packed up in his saddle-bags. He is 
instructed to show no favor nor affection ; but to charge 
the thickest ranks of the enemy, and to speechify and bat¬ 
ter by words the conspiracy and the conspirators out of 
existence. Heavens, my friend, what a deal of blustering 
is here ! It reminds me of a dunghill cock in a farm¬ 
yard, who, having accidentally in his scratchings found a 
worm, immediately begins a most vociferous cackling-- 
calls around him his hen-hearted companions, who run 


180 


SALMAGUNDI, 


chattering from all quarters to gobble up the poor little 
worm that happened to turn under his eye. O, Asem! 
Asem! on what a prodigious great scale is everything in 
this country! 

Thus, then, I conclude my observations. The infidel 
nations have each a separate characteristic trait, by 
which they may be distinguished from each other; the 
Spaniards, for instance, may be said to sleep upon every 
affair of importance; the Italians to fiddle upon every¬ 
thing ; the French to dance upon everything; the Ger¬ 
mans to smoke upon everything; the British islanders 
to eat upon everything; and the windy subjects of the 
American logocracy to talk upon everything. 

Forever thine, 

Mustapha. 


FROM THE MILL OF PINDAR COCKLOFT, ESQ. 

T TOW oft in musing mood my heart recalls. 

From gray-beard father Time’s oblivious halls. 
The modes and maxims of my early day. 

Long in those dark recesses stow’d away : 

Drags once more to the cheerful realms of light 
Those buckram fashions, long since lost in night, 
And makes, like Endor’s witch, once more to rise 
My grogram grandames to my raptured eyes I 
Shades of my fathers I in your pasteboard skirts. 
Your broidered waistcoats and your plaited shirts, 



ANCESTRAL SHADES. 


181 


Tour formal bag-wigs—wide-extended cuffs. 

Your five-inch chitterlings and nine-inch ruffs, 

Gods ! how ye strut, at times, in all your state. 

Amid the visions of my thoughtful pate ! 

I see ye move the solemn minuet o’er, 

The modest foot scarce rising from the floor; 

No thundering rigadoon with boisterous prance. 

No pigeon-wing disturb your contre-danse. 

But silent as the gentle Lethe’s tide, 

Adown the festive maze ye peaceful glide ! 

Still in my mental eye each name appears— 

Each modest beauty of departed years; 

Close by mamma I see her stately march. 

Or sit, in all the majesty of starch ;— 

When for the dance a stranger seeks her hand, 

I see her doubting, hesitating stand ; 

Yield to his claim with most fastidious grace. 

And sigh for her intended in his place! 

Ah! golden days ; when every gentle fair 
On sacred Sabbath conn’d with pious care 
Her Holy Bible, or her prayer-book o’er. 

Or studied honest Bunyan’s drowsy lore ; 

Travell’d with him the “ Pilgrim’s Progress” through. 
And storm’d the famous town of Man-soul too ;— 

Beat Eye and Ear-gate up with thundering jar, 

And fought triumphant through the ‘‘Holy War;” 

Or if, perchance, to lighter works inclined, 

They sought with novels to relax the mind, 

’Twas “ Grandison’s politely ” formal page. 

Or “ Clelia ” or “ Pamela ” were the rage. 


182 


8ALMAGUNDL 


No plays were then—theatrics were unknown— 

A learned pig, a dancing monkey shown, 

The feats of Punch, a cunning juggler’s sleight. 
Were sure to fill each bosom with delight. 

An honest, simple, humdrum race we were, 
TJndazzled yet by fashion’s wildering glare ; 

Our manners unreserved, devoid of guile. 

We knew not then the modern monster. Style : 
Style, that with pride each empty bosom swells. 
Puffs boys to manhood, little girls to belles. 

Scarce from the nursery freed, our gentle fair 
Are yielded to the dancing-master’s care ; 

And, ere the head one mite of sense can gain, 

Are introduced ’mid folly’s frippery train. 

A stranger’s grasp no longer gives alarms. 

Our fair surrender to their very arms. 

And in the insidious waltz ’ will swim and twine. 
And whirl and languish tenderly divine ! 

0, how I hate this loving, hugging dance ; 

This imp of Germany brought up in France : 

Nor can I see a niece its windings trace. 

But all the honest blood glows in my face. 

Sad, sad refinement this,” I often say; 

’Tis modesty indeed refined away ! 

Let France its whim, its sparkling wit supply. 

The easy grace that captivates the eye ; 

But curse their waltz—their loose, lascivious arts. 
That smooth our manners, to corrupt our hearts! 
Where now those books, from which in days of yore 
Our mothers gained their literary store ? 


MODERN BELLES. 


183 


Alas ! stiff-skirted Grandison gives place 
To novels of a new and rakish race ; 

And honest Bunyan’s pious dreaming lore. 

To the lascivious rhapsodies of Moore. 

And, last of all, behold the mimic stage. 

Its morals lend to polish off the age; 

With flimsy farce, a comedy miscall’d. 

Garnished with vulgar cant, and proverbs bald. 
With puns most puny, and a plenteous store 
Of smutty jokes, to catch a gallery roar. 

Or see, more fatal, graced with every art 
To charm and captivate the female heart. 

The false, the gallant, gay Lothario ” smiles,* 
And loudly boasts his base seductive wiles— 

In glowing colors paint Calista’s wrongs. 

And with voluptuous scenes the tale prolongs. 
When Cooper lends his fascinating powers. 
Decks vice itself in bright alluring flowers. 
Pleased with his manly grace, his youthful Are, 
Our fair are lured the villain to admire ; 

While humbler virtue, like a stalking horse. 
Struts clumsily and croaks in honest Morse. 

Ah, hapless days ! when trials thus combined, 
In pleasing garb assail the female mind ; 

When every smooth, insidious snare is spread 
To sap the morals and delude the head I 
Not Shadrach, Meshach, and Abed-nego, 

To prove their faith and virtue here below. 
Could more an angel’s helping hand require 
To guide their steps uninjured through the fire. 


184 


SALMAGUNDI. 


Where had but heaven its guardian aid denied. 
The holy trio in the proof had died. 

If, then, their manly vigor sought supplies 
From the bright stranger in celestial guise, 

Alas ! can we from feebler natures claim, 

To brave seduction’s ordeal, free from blame ; 

To pass through fire unhurt like golden ore. 
Though ANGEL MISSIONS bless the earth no more I 


NOTEb, BY WILLIAM WIZARD, ESQ. 

* Waltz.'] As many of the retired matrons of this city, unskilled in 
“gestic lore” are doubtless ignorant of the movements and figures of this 
modest exhibition, I will endeavor to give some account of it, in order 
that they may learn what odd capers their daughters sometimes cut when 
from under their guardian wings. 

On a signal being given by the music, the gentleman seizes the lady 
round her waist; the lady scorning to be outdone in courtesy, very 
politely takes the gentleman round the neck, with one arm resting against 
his shoulder to prevent encroachments. Away then they go, about, and 
about, and about—“About what, sir?”—about the room, madam, to be 
sure. The whole economy of this dance consists in turning round and 
round the room in a certain measured step : and it is truly astonishing 
that this continued revolution does not set all their heads swimming like 
a top ; but I have been positively assured that it only occasions a gentle 
sensation which is marvelously agreeable. In the course of this circum¬ 
navigation, the dancers, in order to give the charm of variety, are con¬ 
tinually changing their relative situations ;—now the gentleman, mean¬ 
ing no harm in the world, I assure you, madam, carelessly flings his arm 
about the lady’s neck, with an air of celestial impudence, and anon, the 
lady, meaning as little harm as the gentleman, takes him round the waist 
with most ingenuous modest languishment, to the great delight of nu¬ 
merous spectators and amateurs, who generally form a ring, as the mob 
do about a pair of amazons pulling caps, or a couple of fighting mastiffs. 



j^'AIR PENITENT. 


185 


iifter continuing this divine interchange of hands, arms, et csetera, for 
half an hour or so, the lady begins to tire, and with “eyes upraised,” 
in most bewitching languor, petitions her partner for a little more sup¬ 
port. This is always given without hesitation. The lady leans gently on 
his shoulder, their arms entwine in a thousand seducing, mischievous 
curves—don’t be alarmed, madam—closer and closer they approach each 
other, and in conclusion, the parties being overcome with ecstatic fatigue, 

the lady seems almost sinking into the gentleman’s ar ms , and then_ 

“Well, sir I and what then ?”—Lord, madam, how should I know ? 

2.] My friend Pindar, and in fact our whole junto, has been accused of 
an unreasonable hostility to the French nation; and I am informed by a 
Parisian correspondent, that our first number played the verv devil in the 
court of St. Cloud. His imperial majesty got into a most outrageous 
passion, and being withal a waspish little gentleman, had nearly kicked 
his bosom friend, Talleyrand, out of the cabinet, in paroxysms of his 
wrath. lie insisted upon it that the nation was assailed in its most vital 
part, being, like Achilles, extremely sensitive to any attacks upon th(i 
heel. When my correspondent sent off his despatches, it was still in 
doubt what measures would be adopted; but it was strongly suspected 
that vehement representations would be made to our government. Will¬ 
ing, therefore, to save our Executive from any embarrassment on the 
subject, and above all, from the disagreeable alternative of sending an 
apology by the “ Hornet,” we do assure Mr. Jefferson that there is noth¬ 
ing further from our thoughts than the subversion of the Gallic empire, 
or any attack on the interests, tranquillity, or reputation of the nation at 
large, which we seriously declare possesses the highest rank in our esti¬ 
mation. Nothing less than the national welfare could have induced us to 
trouble ourselves with this explanation; and in the name of the junto, I 
once more declare, that when we toast a Frenchman, we merely mean one 
of these inconnus, who swarmed to this country from the kitchens and 
barbers’ shops of Nantz, Bordeaux, and Marseilles—played game of lea})- 
frog at all our balls and assemblies—set this unhappy town hopping mad, 
and passed themselves off on our tender-hearted damsels for unfortunate 
noblemen, ruined in the revolution! Such only can wince at the lash, 
and accuse us of severity; and we should be mortified in the extreme if 
they did not feel our well-intended castigation. 

* Fair PenitentJ\ The story of this play, if told in its native language, 
would exhibit a scene of guilt and shame which no modest ear could 
listen to without shrinking with disgust; but, arrayed as it is, in all the 
splendor of harmonious, rich, and polished verse, it steals into the heart 


186 


SALMAGUNDI 


like some gay, luxurious, smooth-faced villain, and betrays it insensibly 
to immorality and vice; our very sympathy is enlisted on the side of 
guilt; and the piety of Altamont, and the gentleness of Lavinia, are lost 
in the splendid debaucheries of the “gallant, gay Lothario,” and the 
blustering, hollow repentance of the fair Calista, whose sorrow reminds 
us of that of Pope’s Heloise—“I mourn the lover, not lament the fault.” 
Nothing is more easy than to banish such plays from our stage. Were 
our ladies, instead of crowding to see them again and again repeated, to 
discourage their exhibition by absence, the stage would soon be indeed 
the school of morality, and the number of “ Fair Penitents,” in all proba¬ 
bility, diminish. 


NO. Vni.— 8ATUKDAT, APKIL 18, 1807. 

BY ANTHONY EVERGREEN, GENT. 


In all thy humors, whether grave or mellow, 

Thou’rt such a touchy, testy, pleasant fellow ; 

Hast so much wit, and mirth, and spleen about thee, 
There is no living with thee—nor without thee.” 



EVER, in the memory of the oldest inhabi¬ 
tant, has there been known a more backward 
spring.” This is the universal remark among 
the almanac quidnuncs, and weather-wiseacres of the 
day; and I have heard it at least fifty-five times 
from old Mrs. Cockloft, who, poor woman, is one of 
those walking almanacs that foretell every snow, rain, 
or frost, by the shooting of corns, a pain in the bones, 
or an “ ugly stitch in the side.” I do not recollect, in 
the whole course of my life, to have seen the month of 
March indulge in such untoward capers, caprices, and 
coquetries, as it has done this year; I might have for¬ 
given these vagaries, had they not completely knocked 
up my friend Langstaft’; whose feelings are ever at the 
mercy of a weathercock, whose spirits sink and rise 
with the mercury of a barometer, and to whom an east 

187 





188 


SALMAGUNDI. 


wind is as obnoxious as a Sicilian sirocco. He was 
tempted some time since, by tbe fineness of the weather, 
to dress himself with more than ordinary care, and take 
his morning stroll; but before he had half finished his 
peregrination, he was utterly discomfited, and driven 
home by a tremendous squall of wind, hail, rain, and 
snow, or, as he testily termed it, “a most villainous 
congregation of vapors.” 

This was too much for the patience of friend Laun- 
celot; he declared he would humor the weather no 
longer in its whimwhams; and, according to his im¬ 
memorial custom on these occasions, retreated in high 
dudgeon to his elbow-chair to lie in of the spleen and 
rail at nature for being so fantastical: “ Confound the 
jade,” he frequently exclaims, “ what a pity Nature had 
not been of the masculine instead of the feminine gen¬ 
der; the almanac-makers might then have calculated 
with some degree of certainty.” 

When Langstafi invests himself with the spleen, and 
gives audience to the blue devils from his elbow-chair, 
I would not advise any of his friends to come within 
gun-shot of his citadel with the benevolent purpose of 
administering consolation or amusement; for he is then 
as crusty and crabbed as that famous coiner of false 
money, Diogenes himself. Indeed his room is at such 
times inaccessible; and old Pompey is the only soul that 
can gain admission, or ask a question with impunity; the 
truth is, that on these occasions there is not a straw’s 


LANOSTAFF ON EIS ANCESTRY. 


189 


difference between them, for Pompey is as gram and 
grim and cynical as his master. 

Launcelot has now been above three weeks in this 
desolate situation, and has, therefore, had but little to do 
in our last number. As he could not be prevailed on to 
give any account of himself in our introduction, I will 
take the opportunity of his confinement, while his back 
is turned, to give a slight sketch of his character—fertile 
in whim whams and bachelorisms, but rich in many of the 
sterling qualities of our nature. Annexed to this article, 
our readers will perceive a striking likeness of my friend, 
which was taken by that cunning rogue. Will Wizard, 
who peeped through the key-hole and sketched it off, 
as honest Launcelot sat by the fire, wrapped up in his 
flannel rohe de chambre,^ and indulging in a mortal fit of 
the byp^ Now take my word for it, gentle reader, this is 
the most auspicious moment in which to touch off the 
phiz of a genuine humorist. 

Of the antiquity of the Langstaff family I can say but 
little; except that I have no doubt it is equal to that of 
most families who have the privilege of making their 
own pedigree, without the impertinent interposition of a 
college of heralds. My friend Launcelot is not a man to 
blazon anything; but I have heard him talk with great 
complacency of his ancestor. Sir Kowland, who was a 
dashing buck in the days of Hardiknute, and broke the 
head of a gigantic Dane, at a game of quarter-staff, in 
presence of the whole court In memory of this gallant 


190 


SALMAGUNDI. 


exploit, Sir Eowland was permitted to take the name of 
Langstoffe, and to assume as a crest to his arms a hand 
grasping a cudgel. It is, however, a foible so ridicu¬ 
lously common in this country for people to claim con¬ 
sanguinity with all the great personages of their own 
name in Europe, that I should put but little faith in this 
family boast of friend Langstaff, did I not know him to 
be a man of most unquestionable veracity. 

The whole world knows already that my friend is a 
bachelor; for he is, or pretends to be, exceedingly proud 
of his personal independence, and takes care to make it 
known in all companies where strangers are present. He 
is forever vaunting the precious state of “ single blessed¬ 
ness,” and was, not long ago, considerably startled at a 
proposition of one of his great favorites. Miss Sophy 
Sparkle, “that old bachelors should be taxed as luxu¬ 
ries.” Launcelot immediately hied him home, and wrote 
a tremendous long representation in their behalf, which 
I am resolved to publish if it is ever attempted to carry 
the measure into operation. Whether he is sincere in 
these professions, or whether his present situation is 
owing to choice or disappointment, he only can tell; but 
if he ever does tell, I will suffer myself to be shot by the 
first lady’s eye that can twang an arrow. In his youth he 
was forever in love; but it was his misfortune to be con¬ 
tinually crossed and rivaled by his bosom friend and 
contemporary beau, Pindar Cockloft, Esq., for as Lang¬ 
staff never made a confidant on these occasions, his 


LANOSTAFF*S PECULIARITIES. 


191 


friends never knew which way his affections pointed; 
and so, between them both, the lady generally slipped 
through their fingers. 

It has ever been the misfortune of Launcelot, that he 
could not for the soul of him restrain a good thing; and 
this fatality has drawn upon him the ill-will of many 
whom he would not have offended for the world. With 
the kindest heart under heaven, and the most benevolent 
disposition under heaven toward every being around 
him, he has been continually betrayed by the mischiev¬ 
ous vivacity of his fancy, and the good-humored waggery 
of his feelings, into satirical sallies which have been 
treasured up by the invidious, and retailed out with the 
bitter sneer of malevolence, instead of the playful hilar¬ 
ity of countenance which originally sweetened and tem¬ 
pered and disarmed them of their sting. These misrep¬ 
resentations have gained him many reproaches and lost 
him many a friend. 

This unlucky characteristic played the mischief with 
him in one of his love affairs. He was, as I have before 
observed, often opposed in his gallantries by that for¬ 
midable rival, Pindar Cockloft, Esq., and a most formi¬ 
dable rival he was; for he had Apollo, the nine muses, 
together with all the joint tenants of Olympus, to back 
him ; and everybody knows what important confederates 
they are to a lover. Poor Launcelot stood no chance; 
the lady was cooped up in the poet’s corner of every 
weekly paper; and at length Pindar attacked her with a 


192 


SALMAGUNDI. 


Bonnet, that took up a whole column, in which he enu¬ 
merated at least a dozen cardinal virtues, together with 
innumerable others of inferior consideration. Launcelot 
saw his case was desperate, and that unless he sat down 
forthwith, be-cherubimed and be-angeled her to the 
skies, and put every virtue under the sun in requisition, 
he might as well go hang himself, and so make an end of 
the business. At it, therefore, he went; and was going 
on very swimmingly, for in the space of a dozen lines he 
had enlisted under her command at least three-score and 
ten substantial housekeeping virtues, when unluckily for 
Launcelot’s reputation as a poet and the lady’s as a 
saint, one of those confounded good thoughts struck his 
laughter-loving brain—it was irresistible ; away he went, 
full sweep before the wind, cutting and slashing, and 
tickled to death with his own fun; the consequence was, 
that by the time he had finished, never was poor lady so 
most ludicrously lampooned since lampooning came into 
fashion. But this was not half; so hugely was Laun¬ 
celot pleased with this frolic of his wits, that nothing 
would do but he must show it to the lady, who, as well 
she might, was mortally offended, and forbid him her 
presence. My friend was in despair, but, through the 
interference of his generous rival, was permitted to make 
his apology, which, however, most unluckily happened 
to be rather worse than the original offense ; for though 
he had studied an eloquent compliment, yet, as ill luck 
would have it, a most preposterous whimwham knocked 


A GREAT MISFORTUNE. 


193 


at his pericranium, and inspired him to say some con¬ 
summate good things, which, all put together, amounted 
to a downright hoax, and provoked the lady’s wrath to 
such a degree, that sentence of eternal banishment was 
awarded against him. 

Launcelot was inconsolable, and determined in the 
true style of novel heroics to make the tour of Europe, 
and endeavor to lose the recollection of this misfortune 
amongst the gayeties of France and the classic charms of 
Italy; he accordingly took passage in a vessel, and pur¬ 
sued his voyage prosperously as far as Sandy Hook, 
where he was seized with a violent fit of sea-sickness; at 
which he was so affronted that he put his portmanteau 
into the first pilot-boat, and returned to town completely 
cured of his love and his rage for travelling. 

I pass over the subsequent amours of my friend Lang- 
staff, being but little acquainted with them; for, as I 
have already mentioned, he never was known to make a 
confidant of anybody. He always affirmed that a man 
must be a fool to fall in love, but an idiot to boast of it; 
ever denominated it the villainous passion; lamented 
that it could not be cudgeled out of the human heart; 
and yet could no more live without being in love with 
somebody or other than he could without whimwhams. 

My friend Launcelot is a man of excessive irritability 
of nerve, and I am acquainted with no one so susceptible 
of the petty “ miseries of human life; ” yet its keener 
evils and misfortunes he bears without shrinking, and 
13 


194 


SALMAGUNDI. 


however they may prey in secret on his happiness, he 
never complains. This was strikingly evinced in an 
affair where his heart was deeply and irrevocably con¬ 
cerned, and in which his success was ruined by one for 
whom he had long cherished a warm friendship. The 
circumstance cut poor Langstaff to the very soul; he 
was not seen in company for months afterward, and for a 
long time he seemed to retire within himself, and battle 
with the poignancy of his feelings; but not a murmur or 
a reproach was heard to fall from his lips, though, at 
the mention of his friend’s name, a shade of melancholy 
might be observed stealing across his face, and his voice 
assumed a touching tone, that seemed to say he remem¬ 
bered his treachery “more in sorrow than in anger.” 
This affair has given a slight tinge of sadness to his dis¬ 
position, which, however, does not prevent his entering 
into the amusements of the world; the only effect it 
occasions is, that you may occasionally observe him, at 
the end of a lively conversation, sink for a few minutes 
into an apparent forgetfulness of surrounding objects, 
during which time he seems to be indulging in some 
melancholy retrospection. 

Langstaff inherited from his father a love of litera¬ 
ture, a disposition for castle-building, a mortal enmity to 
noise, a sovereign antipathy to cold weather and brooms, 
and a plentiful stock of whimwhams. From the delicacy 
of his nerves he is peculiarly sensible to discordant 
sounds; the rattling of a wheelbarrow is “ horrible; ” 


ANTIPATHIES. 


195 


the noise of children “ drives him distracted; ” and he 
once left excellent lodgings merely because the lady of 
the house wore high-heeled shoes, in which she clat¬ 
tered up and down stairs, tiU, to use his own emphatic 
expression, “ they made life loathsome ” to him. He suf¬ 
fers annual martyrdom from the razor-edged zephyrs of 
our “balmy spring,” and solemnly declares that the 
boasted month of May has become a perfect “ vagabond.” 
As some people have a great antipathy to cats, and can 
tell when one is locked up in a closet, so Launcelot de¬ 
clares his feelings always announce to him the neigh¬ 
borhood of a broom—a household implement which he 
abominates above all others. Nor is there any living 
animal in the world that he holds in more utter abhor¬ 
rence than what is usually termed a notable housewife; 
a pestilent being, who, he protests, is the bane of good- 
fellowship, and has a heavy charge to answer for the 
many oflfenses committed against the ease, comfort, and 
social enjoyments of sovereign man. He told me, not 
long ago, “ that he had rather see one of the weird sis¬ 
ters flourish through his keyhole on a broomstick, than 
one of the servant-maids enter the door with a besom.” 

My friend Launcelot is ardent and sincere in his at¬ 
tachments, which are confined to a chosen few, in whose 
society he loves to give free scope to his whimsical im¬ 
agination ; he, however, mingles freely with the world, 
though more as a spectator than an actor; and without 
an anxiety, or hardly a care to please, is generally re- 


196 


SALMAGUNDI. 


ceived with welcome and listened to with complacency. 
When he extends his hand, it is in a free, open, liberal 
style ; and when you shake it, you feel his honest heart 
throb in its pulsations. Though rather fond of gay exhi¬ 
bitions, he does not appear so frequently at balls and as¬ 
semblies since the introduction of the drum, trumpet, and 
tambourine ; all of which he abhors on account of the 
rude attack they make on his organs of hearing; in short, 
such is his antipathy to noise, that though exceedingly 
patriotic, yet he retreats every Fourth of July to Cock¬ 
loft Hall, in order to get out of the way of the hubbub 
and confusion which make so considerable a part of the 
pleasure of that splendid anniversary. 

I intend this article as a mere sketch of LangstaflTs 
multifarious character; his innumerable whimwhams 
will be exhibited by himself, in the course of this work, 
in all their strange varieties ; and the machinery of his 
mind, more intricate than the most subtile piece of clock¬ 
work, be fully explained. And trust me, gentle folk, his 
are the whimwhams of a courteous gentleman, full of 
most excellent qualities; honorable in his disposition, 
independent in his sentiments, and of unbounded good 
nature, as may be seen through all his works. 


ON STYLE. 


197 


ON STYLE. 

BY WILLIAM WIZARD, ESQ. 

Style, a manner of writing; title ; pin of a dial; the pistil of plants.— 
ohnson. 

Style, is.style .—Linkum Fiddim. 

' iVrOW I would not give a straw for either of the above 
definitions, though I think the latter is by far the 
most satisfactory; and I do wish sincerely every modem 
numskull, who takes hold of a subject he knows nothing 
about, would adopt honest Linkum’s mode of explana¬ 
tion. Blair’s Lectures on this article have not thrown 
a whit more light on the subject of my inquiries; they 
puzzled me just as much as did the learned and laborious 
expositions and illustrations of the worthy professor of 
our college, in the middle of which I generally had the 
ill luck to fall asleep. 

This same word Style, though but a diminutive word, 
assumes to itself more contradictions, and significations, 
and eccentricities, than any monosyllable in the lan¬ 
guage is legitimately entitled to. It is an arrant little 
humorist of a word, and full of whimwhams, which occa¬ 
sions me to like it hugely ; but it puzzled me most wick¬ 
edly on my first return from a long residence abroad, 
having crept into fashionable use during my absence; 
and had it not been for friend Evergreen, and that 
thrifty sprig of knowledge, Jeremy Cockloft the younger, 



198 


SALMAGUNDI, 


I should have remained to this day ignorant of its 
meaning. 

Though it would seem that the people of all countries 
are equally vehement in the pursuit of this phantom, 
style, yet in almost all of them there is a strange diver¬ 
sity in opinion as to what constitutes its essence; and 
every different class, like the pagan nations, adore it 
under a different form. In England, for instance, an 
honest cit packs up himself, his family and his style, 
in a buggy or tim-whisky, and rattles away on Sunday 
with his fair partner blooming beside him, like an east¬ 
ern bride, and two chubby children, squatting like Chi¬ 
nese images at his feet. A baronet requires a chariot 
and pair; a lord must needs have a barouche and four; 
but a duke—O ! a duke cannot possibly lumber his style 
along under a coach and six, and half a score of footmen 
into the bargain. In China a puissant Mandarin loads 
at least three elephants with style; and an overgrown 
sheep at the Cape of Good Hope, trails along his tail and 
his style on a wheelbarrow. In Egypt, or at Constan¬ 
tinople, style consists in the quantity of fur and fine 
clothes a lady can put on without danger of suffocation ; 
here it is otherwise, and consists in the quantity she 
can put off without the risk of freezing. A Chinese lady 
is thought prodigal of her charms if she expose the tip 
of her nose, or the ends of her fingers, to the ardent gaze 
of bystanders; and I recollect that all Canton was in a 
buzz in consequence of the great belle. Miss Nangfous, 


ON STYLE, 


199 


peeping out of the window with her face uncovered! 
Here the style is to show not only the face, but the neck, 
shoulders, etc. ; and a lady never presumes to hide them 
except when she is not “ at home,” and not sufficiently 
undressed to see company. 

This style has ruined the peace and harmony of many 
a worthy household; for no sooner do they set up for 
style, but instantly all the honest old comfortable sans 
ch'hnonie furniture is discarded ; and you stalk cautiously 
about, amongst the uncomfortable splendor of Grecian 
chairs, Egyptian tables, Turkey carpets, and Etruscan 
vases. This vast improvement in furniture demands an 
increase in the domestic establishment, and a family that 
once required two or three servants for convenience, now 
employs half a dozen for style. 

Bell Brazen, late favorite of my unfortunate friend 
Dessalines, was one of these patterns of style ; and what¬ 
ever freak she was seized with, however preposterous, 
was implicitly followed by all who would be considered 
as admitted in the stylish arcana. She was once seized 
with a whimwham that tickled the whole court. She 
could not lay down to take an afternoon’s loll, but she 
must have one servant to scratch her head, two to tickle 
her feet, and a fourth to fan her delectable person while 
she slumbered. The thing took—it became the rage, and 
not a sable belle in all Hayti but what insisted upon be¬ 
ing fanned, and scratched, and tickled in the true im¬ 
perial style. Sneer not at this picture, my most excellent 


200 


8ALMAGUNDL 


townswomen, for who among you but are daily following 
fashions equally absurd? 

Style, accordingly to Evergreen’s account, consists in 
certain fashions, or certain eccentricities, or certain man¬ 
ners of certain people, in certain situations, and pos¬ 
sessed of a certain share of fashion or importance. A 
red cloak, for instance, on the shoulders of an old market- 
woman is regarded with contempt; it is vulgar, it is 
odious : fling, however, its usurping rival, a red shawl, 
over the fine figure of a fashionable belle, and let her 
flame away with it in Broadway, or in a ballroom, and it 
is immediately declared to be the style. 

The modes of attaining this certain situation, which 
entitle its holder to style, are various and opposite: the 
most ostensible is the attainment of wealth, the posses¬ 
sion of which changes at once the pert airs of vulgar 
ignorance into fashionable ease and elegant vivacity. It 
is highly amusing to observe the gradation of a family 
aspiring to style, and the devious windings they pursue 
in order to attain it. While beating up against wind and 
tide, they are the most complaisant beings in the world; 
they keep booing and booing,” as M’Sycophant says, 
until you would suppose them incapable of standing up¬ 
right ; they kiss their hands to everybody who has the 
least claim to style; their familiarity is intolerable, and 
they absolutely overwhelm you with their friendship and 
loving kindness. But having once gained the envied pre¬ 
eminence, never were beings in the world more changed 


NEW-MADE FASHIONABLES. 


201 


i'hey assume tlie most intolerable caprices : at one time, 
address you with importunate sociability; at another, 
pass you by with silent indifference ; sometimes sit up in 
their chairs in all the majesty of dignified silence; and 
at another time bounce about with all the obstreperous 
ill-bred noise of a little hoyden just broke loose from a 
boarding-school. 

Another feature which distinguishes these new-made 
fashionables, is the inveteracy with which they look 
down upon the honest people who are struggling to 
climb up to the same envied height. They never fail to 
salute them with the most sarcastic reflections; and like 
so many worthy hodmen, clambering a ladder, each one 
looks down upon his next neighbor below, and makes no 
scruple of shaking the dust off his shoes into his eyes. 
Thus by dint of perseverance, merely, they come to be 
considered as established denizens of the great world; 
as in some barbarous nations an oyster shell is of ster¬ 
ling value, and a copper-washed counter will pass current 
for genuine gold. 

In no instance have I seen this grasping after style 
more whimsically exhibited, than in the family of my old 
acquaintance, Timothy Giblet. I recollect old Giblet 
when I was a boy, and he was the most surly curmud¬ 
geon I ever knew. He was a perfect scarecrow to the 
small-fry of the day, and inherited the hatred of all 
these unlucky little shavers: for never could we assem¬ 
ble about his door of an evening to play, and make a 


202 


8ALMA0UNDL 


little hubbub, but out be sallied from bis nest like A 
spider, flourished bis formidable horsewhip, and dis¬ 
persed the whole crew in the twinkling of a lamp. I 
perfectly remember a bill he sent in to my father for a 
pane of glass I had accidentally broken, which came well- 
nigh getting me a sound flogging; and I remember as 
perfectly that the next night I revenged myself by break¬ 
ing half a dozen. 

Giblet was as arrant a grubworm as ever crawled; and 
the only rules of right and wrong he cared a button for, 
were the rules of multiplication and addition, which he 
practiced much more successfully than he did any of the 
rules of religion or morality. He used to declare they 
were the true golden rules ; and he took special care to 
put Cocker’s arithmetic in the hands of his children, be¬ 
fore they had read ten pages in the Bible or the Prayer- 
book. The practice of these favorite maxims was at 
length crowned with the harvest of success; and after a 
life of self-denial and starvation, and after enduring all 
th^ pounds, shillings, and pence miseries of a miser, he 
had the satisfaction of seeing himself worth a plum, and 
of dying just as he had determined to enjoy the remainder 
of his days in contemplating his great wealth and accu¬ 
mulating mortgages. 

His children inherited his money; but they buried the 
disposition, and every other memorial of their father, in 
his grave. Fired with a noble thirst for style, they in¬ 
stantly emerged from the retired lane in which them- 


THE QIBLET FAMILY. 


203 


selves and their accomplishments had hitherto been 
buried; and they blazed, and they whizzed, and they 
cracked about town, like a nest of squibs and devils in a 
fire-work. I can liken their sudden eclat to nothing but 
that of the locust, which is hatched in the dust, where it 
increases and swells up to maturity, and after feeling 
for a moment the vivifying rays of the sun, bursts forth 
a mighty insect, and flutters, and rattles, and buzzes 
from every tree. The little warblers who have long 
cheered the woodlands with their dulcet notes, are stun¬ 
ned by the discordant racket of these upstart intruders, 
and contemplate, in contemptuous silence, their tinsel 
and their noise. 

Having once started, the Giblets were determined that 
nothing should stop them in their career, until they had 
run their full course, and arrived at the very tip-top ot 
style. Every tailor, every shoemaker, every coachmaker, 
every milliner, every mantuamaker, every paperhanger, 
every piano teacher, and every dancing-master in the city, 
were enlisted in their service; and the willing wights 
most courteously answered their call; and fell to work 
to build up the fame of the Giblets, as they had done 
that of many an aspiring family before them. In a little 
time the young ladies could dance the waltz, thunder 
Lodoiska, murder French, kill time, and commit violence 
on the face of nature in a landscape in water-colors, 
equal to the best lady in the land; and the young gentle¬ 
men were seen lounging at corners of streets, and driving 


204 


SALMAOUNDL 


tandem; heard talking loud at the theatre, and laughing 
in church, with as much ease, and grace, and modesty, as 
if they had been gentlemen all the days of their lives. 

And the Giblets arrayed themselves in scarlet, and in 
fine linen, and seated themselves in high places; but 
nobody noticed them except to honor them with a little 
contempt. The Giblets made a prodigious splash in 
their own opinion; but nobody extolled them except the 
tailors, and the milliners who had been employed in 
manufacturing their paraphernalia. The Giblets there¬ 
upon being, like Caleb Quotem, determined to have “ a 
place at the review,” fell to work more fiercely than 
ever; they gave dinners, and they gave balls, they hired 
cooks, they hired fiddlers, they hired confectioners ; and 
they would have kept a newspaper in pay, had they not 
all been bought up at that time for the election. They 
invited the dancing-men and the dancing-women, and the 
gormandizers, and the epicures of the city, to come and 
make merry at their expense; and the dancing-men and 
the dancing-women, and the epicures, and the gorman¬ 
dizers did come; and they did make merry at their 
expense ; and they eat and they drank, and they capered, 
and they danced, and they—laughed at their enter¬ 
tainers. 

Then commenced the hurry and the bustle, and the 
mighty nothingness of fashionable life; such rattling in 
coaches ! such flaunting in the streets! such slamming of 
box doors at the theatre! such a tempest of bustle and 


GETTING INTO NOTICE. 


205 


unmeaning noise wherever they appeared ! The Giblets 
were seen here and there and everywhere; they visited 
everybody they knew, and everybody they did not know; 
and there was no getting along for the Giblets. Their 
plan at length succeeded. By dint of dinners, of feeding 
and frolicking the town, the Giblet family worked them¬ 
selves into notice, and enjoyed the ineffable pleasure of 
being forever pestered by visitors who cared nothing 
about them; of being squeezed, and smothered, and par¬ 
boiled at nightly balls and evening tea-parties; they 
were allowed the privilege of forgetting the very few old 
friends they once possessed; they turned their noses up 
in the wind at everything that was not genteel; and 
their superb manners and sublime affectation at length 
left it no longer a matter of doubt that the Giblets were 
perfectly in style. 


-“ Being, as it were, a small contentmente 

in a never contenting subjecte ; a bitter pleas- 
aunte taste of a sweete seasoned sower; and, all 
in all, a more than ordinarie rejoycing, in an ex- 
traordinarie sorrow of delyghts.”— 

Link. Fiddius. 


TTTE have been considerably edified of late by several 
’ ^ letters of advice from a number of sage correspond¬ 
ents, who really seem to know more about our work 
than we do ourselves. One warns us against saying any¬ 
thing more about ’Sbidlikens, who is a very particular 



206 


SALMAGUNDI 


friend of the writer, and who has a singular disinclina¬ 
tion to be laughed at. This correspondent in particular 
inveighs against personalities, and accuses us of ill- 
nature in bringing forward old Fungus and Billy Dim¬ 
ple, as figures of fun to amuse the public. Another 
gentleman, who states that he is a near relation of the 
Cocklofts, proses away most soporifically on the impro¬ 
priety of ridiculing a respectable old family; and de¬ 
clares that if we make them and their whimwhams the 
subject of any more essays, he shall be under the ne¬ 
cessity of applying to our theatrical champions foi 
satisfaction. A third, who, by the crabbedness of the 
handwriting, and a few careless inaccuracies in the spell¬ 
ing, appears to be a lady, assures us that the Miss Cock¬ 
lofts, and Miss Diana Wearwell, and Miss Dashaway, 

and Mrs. -, Will Wizard’s quondam flame, are so 

much obliged to us for our notice, that they intend in 
future to take no notice of us at all, but leave us out of 
all their tea-parties, for which we make them one of our 
best bows, and say, thank you, ladies.” 

We wish to heaven these good people would attend to 
their own affairs, if they have any to attend to, and let us 
alone. It is one of the most provoking things in the 
world that we cannot tickle the public a little, merely for 
our own private amusement, but we must be crossed and 
jostled by these meddling incendiaries, and, in fact, have 
the whole town about our ears. We are much in the 
same situation with an unlucky blade of a cockney, who, 


TO COERESPONDENTS. 


207 


having mounted his bit of blood to enjoy a little inno¬ 
cent recreation, and display his horsemanship along 
Broadway, is worried by all those little yelping curs that 
infest our city, and who never fail to sally out and growl, 
and bark, and snarl, to the great annoyance of the Bir¬ 
mingham equestrian. 

Wisely was it said by the sage Linkum Fidelius, 
“ howbeit, moreover, nevertheless, this thrice-wicked 
towne is charged up to the muzzle with all manner of ill- 
natures and uncharitablenesses, and is, moreover, exceed- 
inglie naughte.” This passage of the erudite Linkum 
was applied to the city of Gotham, of which he was once 
Lord Mayor, as appears by his picture hung up in the 
hall of that ancient city; but his observatiom fits this 
best of all possible cities “ to a hair.” It is a melancholy 
truth that this same New York, though the most charm¬ 
ing, pleasant, polished, and praiseworthy city under the 
sun, and in a word the bonne houche of the universe, is 
most shockingly ill-natured and sarcastic, and wickedly 
given to all manner of backslidings; for which we are 
very sorry indeed. In truth, for it must come out like 
murder, one time or other, the inhabitants are not only 
ill-natured, but manifestly unjust; no sooner do they get 
one of our randc m sketches in their hands, but instantly 
they apply it most unjustifiably to some “ dear friend,” 
and then accuse us vociferously of the personality which 
originated in their own ofiicious friendship ! Truly it is 
an ill-natured town, and most earnestly do we hope it 


203 


SALMAGUNDI. 


may not meet with the fate of Sodom and Gomorrah of 
old. 

As, however, it may be thought incumbent upon us to 
make some apology for these mistakes of the town; and 
as our good-nature is truly exemplary, we would cer¬ 
tainly answer this expectation, were it not that we have 
an invincible antipathy to making apologies. We have 
a most profound contempt for any man who cannot give 
three good reasons for an unreasonable thing; and will 
therefore condescend, as usual, to give the public three 
special reasons for never apologizing: first, an apology 
implies that we are accountable to somebody or another 
for our conduct; now, as we do not care a fiddle-stick, as 
authors, for either public opinion or private ill-will, it 
would be implying a falsehood to apologize; second, an 
apology would indicate that we had been doing what we 
ought not to have done. Now, as we never did and never 
intend to do anything wrong, it would be ridiculous to 
make an apology; third, we labor under the same in¬ 
capacity in the art of apologizing that lost Langstaff his 
mistress; we never yet undertook to make an apology 
without committing a new offense, and making matters 
ten times worse than they were before ; and we are, there¬ 
fore, determined to avoid such predicaments in future. 

But though we have resolved never to apologize, yet 
we have no particular objection to explain; and if this is 
all that’s wanted, we will go about it directly:— allons, 
gentlemen!—before, however, we enter upon this serious 


GENTLE READER. 


209 


affair, we take this opportunity to express our surprise 
and indignation at the incredulity of some people. Have 
we not, over and over, assured the town that we are three 
of the best-natured fellows living ? And is it not aston¬ 
ishing, that having already given seven convincing proofs 
of the truth of this assurance, they should still have any 
doubts on the subject ? But as it is one of the impos¬ 
sible things to make a knave believe in honesty, so, per¬ 
haps, it may be another to make this most sarcastic, 
satirical, and tea-drinking city believe in the existence of 
good-nature. But to our explanation. Gentle reader 
—for we are convinced that none but gentle or genteel 
readers can relish our excellent productions—if thou art 
in expectation of being perfectly satisfied with what we 
are about to say, thou mayst as well “whistle lille- 
bullero,” and skip quite over what follows; for never 
wight was more disappointed than thou wilt be, most 
assuredly. But to the explanation: We care just as 
much about the public and its wise conjectures, as we do 
about the man in the moon and his whimwhams; or the 
criticisms of the lady who sits majestically in her elbow- 
chair in the lobster; and who, belying her sex, as we are 
credibly informed, never says anything worth listening 
to. We have launched our bark, and we will steer to our 
destined port with undeviating perseverance, fearless 
of being shipwrecked by the way. Good-nature is our 
steersman, reason our ballast, whim the breeze that 
wafts us along, and morality our leading star. 

14 


NO. IX.—SATUEDAY, APEIL 25, 1807. 


FROM MY ELBOW-CHAIR. 



T in some measure jumps with my humor to be 
“ melancholy and gentlemanlike ” this stormy 
night, and I see no reason why I should not 
indulge myself for once. Away, then, with joke, with 
fun, and laughter, for a while ; let my soul look back in 
mournful retrospect, and sadden with the memory of my 
good aunt Charity—who died of a Frenchman! 

Stare not, O, most dubious reader, at the mention of a 
complaint so uncommon; grievously hath it afflicted the 
ancient family of the Cocklofts, who carry their absurd 
antipathy to the French so far, that they will not suffer a 
clove of garlic in the house; and my good old friend 
Christopher was once on the point of abandoning his 
paternal country mansion of Cockloft Hall, merely be¬ 
cause a colony of frogs had settled in a neighboring 
swamp. I verily believe he would have carried his 
whim wham into effect, had not a fortunate drought 
obliged the enemy to strike their tents, and, like a troop 
of wandering Arabs, to march off towards a moister part 
of the country. 


210 





MT A UNT CHARITY. 


211 


My aunt Charity departed this life in the fifty-ninth 
year of her age, though she never grew older after 
twenty-five. In her teens she was, according to her own 
account, a celebrated beauty, though I never could meet 
with anybody that remembered when she was handsome; 
on the contrary. Evergreen’s father, who used to gallant 
her in his youth, says she was as knotty a little piece of 
humanity as he ever saw ; and that, if she had been pos¬ 
sessed of the least sensibility, she would, like poor old 
AccOf have most certainly run mad at her own figure and 
face the first time she contemplated herself in a looking- 
glass. In the good old times that saw my aunt in the hey¬ 
day of youth, a fine lady was a most formidable 'animal, 
and required to be approached with the same awe and 
devotion that a Tartar feels in the presence of his Grand 
Lama. If a gentleman ofiered to take her hand, except 
to help her into a carriage, or lead her into a drawing¬ 
room, such frowns ! such a rustling of brocade and taf¬ 
feta ! her very paste shoe-buckles sparkled with indigna¬ 
tion, and for a moment assumed the brilliancy of dia¬ 
monds : in those days the person of a belle was sacred; 
it was unprofaned by the sacrilegious grasp of a stran¬ 
ger : simple souls!—they had not the waltz among them 
yet! 

My good aunt prided herself on keeping up this buck¬ 
ram delicacy; and if she happened to be playing at the 
old-fashioned game of forfeits, and was fined a kiss, it 
was always more trouble to get it than it was worth ; for 


212 


SALMAGUNDI. 


she made a most gallant defense, and never surrendered 
until she saw her adversary inclined to give over his at¬ 
tack. Evergreen’s father says he remembers once to have 
been on a sleighing party with her, and when they came 
to Kissing-bridge, it fell to his lot to levy contributions on 
Miss Charity Cockloft, who, after squalling at a hideous 
rate, at length jumped out of the sleigh plump into a 
snow-bank, where she stuck fast like an icicle, until he 
came to her rescue. This Latonian feat cost her a rheu¬ 
matism, from which she never thoroughly recovered. 

It is rather singular that my aunt, though a great 
beauty, and an heiress withal, never got married. The 
reason she alleged was, that she never met with a lover 
who resembled Sir Charles Grandison, the hero of her 
nightly dreams and waking fancy; but I am privately of 
opinion that it was owing to her never having had an 
offer. This much is certain, that for many years previous 
to her decease, she declined all attentions from the gen¬ 
tlemen, and contented herself with watching over the wel¬ 
fare of her fellow-creatures. She was, indeed, observed 
to take a considerable lean toward Methodism, was fre¬ 
quent in her attendance at love feasts, read Whitefield 
and Wesley, and even went so far as once to travel the 
distance of five-and-twenty miles to be present at a camp¬ 
meeting. This gave great offense to my cousin Christo¬ 
pher, and his good lady, who, as I have already men¬ 
tioned, are rigidly orthodox; and had not my aunt Charity 
been of a most pacific disposition, her religious whim- 


MY AUNT CHARITY, 


213 


wham would have occasioned many a family altercation. 
She was, indeed, as good a soul as the Cockloft family 
ever boasted; a lady of unbounded loving-kindness, which 
extended to man, woman, and child; many of whom she 
almost killed with good-nature. Was any acquaintance 
sick ? In vain did the wind whistle and the storm beat; 
my aunt would waddle through mud and mire, over the 
whole town, but what she would visit them. She would 
sit by them for hours together with the most persevering 
patience, and tell a thousand melancholy stories of hu¬ 
man misery, to keep up their spirits. The whole cata¬ 
logue of yerh teas was at her fingers’ ends, from formi¬ 
dable wormwood down to gentle balm; and she would 
descant by the hour on the healing qualities of hore- 
hound, catnip, and pennyroyal. Woe be to the patient 
that came under the benevolent hand of my aunt Charity; 
he was sure, willy-nilly, to be drenched with a deluge of 
decoctions; and full many a time has my cousin Christo¬ 
pher borne a twinge of pain in silence, through fear of 
being condemned to suffer the martyrdom of her materia- 
medica. My good aunt had, moreover, considerable skill 
in. astronomy, for she could tell when the sun rose and 
set every day in the year ; and no woman was able to pro¬ 
nounce with more certainty, at what precise- minute the 
moon changed. She held the story of the moon’s being 
made of green cheese, as an abominable slander on her 
favorite planet; and she had made several valuable dis¬ 
coveries in solar eclipses, by means of a bit of burnt glass, 


214 


SALMAGUNDI. 


which entitled her at least to an honorary admission in the 
American Philosophical Society. Hutching’s Improved 
was her favorite book; and I shrewdly suspect that it 
was from this valuable work she drew most of her sover¬ 
eign remedies for colds, coughs, corns, and consumptions. 

But the truth must be told. With all her good quali¬ 
ties my aunt Charity was afflicted with one fault, ex¬ 
tremely rare among her gentle sex—it was curiosity. 
How she came by it, I am at a loss to imagine, but it 
played the very vengeance with her and destroyed the 
comfort of her life. Having an invincible desire to know 
everybody’s character, business, and mode of living, she 
was forever prying into the affairs of her neighbors; and 
got a great deal of ill-will from people toward whom she 
had the kindest disposition possible. If any family on 
the opposite side of the street gave a dinner, my aunt 
would mount her spectacles, and sit at the window until 
the company were all housed, merely that she might 
know who they were. If she heard a story about any of 
her acquaintances, she would forthwith set off full sail, 
and never rest until, to use her usual expression, she had 
got “ to the bottom of it; ” which meant nothing more 
than telling it to everybody she knew. 

I remember one night my aunt Charity happened to 
hear a most precious story about one of her good friends, 
but unfortunately too late to give it immediate circula¬ 
tion. It made her absolutely miserable ; and she hardly 
slept a wink all night, for fear her bosom-friend, Mrs. 


OBLIGED TO LISTEN. 


215 


Sipkins, should get the start of her in the mor ning and 
blow the whole affair. You must know there was always 
a contest between these two ladies, who should first give 
currency to the good-natured things said about every¬ 
body; and this unfortunate rivalship at length proved 
fatal to their long and ardent friendship. My aunt got 
up full two hours that morning before her usual time; 
put on her pompadour taffeta gown, and sallied forth to 
lament the misfortune of her dear friend. Would you 
believe it!—wherever she went, Mrs. Sipkins had antici¬ 
pated her; and, instead of being listened to with uplifted 
hands and open-mouthed wonder, my unhappy aunt was 
obliged to sit down quietly and listen to the whole affair, 
with numerous additions, alterations, and amendments! 
Now, this was too bad; it would have almost provoked 
Patience Grizzle or a saint. It was too much for my 
aunt, who kept her bed for three days afterward, with a 
cold, as she pretended; but I have no doubt it was owing 
to this affair of Mrs. Sipkins, to whom she never would 
be reconciled. 

But I pass over the rest of my aunt Charity’s life, 
checkered with the various calamities, and misfortunes, 
and mortifications, incident to those worthy old gentle¬ 
women who have the domestic cares of the whole com¬ 
munity upon their minds; and I hasten to relate the 
melancholy incident that hurried her out of existence in 
the full bloom of antiquated virginity. 

In their frolicsome malice, the fates had ordained that 


216 


SALMAGUNDI, 


a French boarding-house, or Pension Frawmse^ as it was 
called, should be established directly opposite my aunt’s 
residence. Cruel event! Unhappy Aunt Charity! It 
threw her into that alarming disorder denominated the 
fidgets; she did nothing but watch at the window day 
after day, but without becoming one whit the wiser at the 
end of a fortnight than she was at the beginning; she 
thought that neighbor Pension had a monstrous large 
family, and somehow or other they were all men! she 
could not imagine what business neighbor Pension fol¬ 
lowed to support so numerous a household; and won¬ 
dered why there was always such a scraping of fid¬ 
dles in the parlor, and such a smell of onions from neigh¬ 
bor Pension’s kitchen; in short, neighbor Pension was 
continually uppermost in her thoughts, and incessantly 
on the outer edge of her tongue. This was, I believe, 
the very first time she had ever failed “ to get at the bot¬ 
tom of a thing; ” and the disappointment cost her many 
a sleepless night, I warrant you. I have little doubt, 
however, that my aunt would have ferreted neighbor 
Pension out, could she have spoken or understood 
French; but in those times people in general could 
make themselves understood in plain English; and it 
was always a standing rule in the Cockloft family, which 
exists to this day, that not one of the females should 
learn French. 

My aunt Charity had lived at her window for some 
time in vain; when one day, as she was keeping her 


DYING OF A FRENCHMAN. 


217 


usual look-out and suffering all the pangs of unsatisfied 
curiosity, she beheld a little, meagre, weazel-faced French¬ 
man, of the most forlorn, diminutive, and pitiful propor¬ 
tions, arrive at neighbor Pension’s door. He was dressed 
in white, with a little pinched-up cocked hat; he seemed 
to shake in the wind, and every blast that went over him 
whistled through his bones and threatened instant an¬ 
nihilation. This embodied spirit of famine was followed 
by three carts, lumbered with crazy trunks, chests, band- 
boxes, bidets, medicine-chests, parrots, and monkeys; 
and at his heels ran a yelping pack of little black-nosed 
pug-dogs. This was the one thing wanting to fill up the 
measure of my aunt Charity’s afflictions; she could not 
conceive, for the soul of her, who this mysterious little 
apparition could be that made so great a display; what 
he could possibly do with so much baggage, and partic¬ 
ularly with his parrots and monkeys; or how so small a 
carcass could have occasion for so many trunks of clothes. 
Honest soul! she had never had a peep into a Frenchman’s 
wardrobe—that dep6t of old coats, hats, and breeches, of 
the growth of every fashion he has followed in his life. 

From the time of this fatal arrival, my poor aunt was 
in a quandary ;—all her inquiries were fruitless ; no one 
could expound the history of this mysterious stranger: 
she never held up her head afterward—drooped daily, 
took to her bed in a fortnight, and in “ one little month ’* 
I saw her quietly deposited in the family vault—being 
the seventh Cockloft that has died of a whimwham I 


218 


SALMAGUNDI. 


Take warning, my fair countrywomen! and you, O ye 
excellent ladies, whether married or single, who pry into 
other people’s affairs and neglect those of your own 
household—who are so busily employed in observing the 
faults of others that you have no time to correct your 
own—remember the fate of my dear aunt Charity, and 
eschew the evil spirit of curiosity. 


FROM MY ELBOW-CHAIR. 

“T FIND, by perusal of our last number, that Will 
Wizard and Evergreen, taking advantage of my con¬ 
finement, have been playing some of their gambols. I 
suspected these rogues of some malpractices, in con¬ 
sequence of their queer looks and knowing winks when¬ 
ever I came down to dinner; and of their not showing 
their faces at old Cockloft’s for several days, after the 
appearance of their precious effusions. Whenever these 
two waggish fellows lay their heads together, there is 
always sure to be hatched some notable piece of mis¬ 
chief ; which, if it tickles nobody else, is sure to make its 
authors merry. The public will take notice that, for the 
purpose of teaching these my associates better manners, 
and punishing them for their high misdemeanors, I have, 
by virtue of my authority, suspended them from all 
interference in Salmagundi, until they show a proper 



COUSIN PINDAR. 


219 


degree of repentance; or I get tired of supporting the 
burden of the work myself. I am sorry for Will, who is 
already sufficiently mortified in not daring to come to the 
old house, and tell his long stories and smoke his cigar; 
but Evergreen, being an old beau, may solace himself in 
his disgrace by trimming up all his old finery and mak¬ 
ing love to the little girls. 

At present, my right-hand man is Cousin Pindar, 
whom I have taken into high favor. He came home the 
other night all in a blaze like a sky-rocket—whisked up 
to his room in a paroxysm of poetic inspiration, nor did 
we see anything of him until late the next morning, when 
he bounced upon us at breakfast, 

“ Fire in each eye—and paper in each hand.” 

This is just the way with Pindar, he is like a volcano; 
will remain for a long time silent without emitting a 
single spark, and then, all at once, burst out in a tremen¬ 
dous explosion of rhyme and rhapsody. 

As the letters of my friend, Mustapha, seem to excite 
considerable curiosity, I have subjoined another. I do 
not vouch for the justice of his remarks, or the correct¬ 
ness of his conclusions; they are full of the blunders 
and errors in which strangers continually indulge, who 
pretend to give an account of this country before they 
well know the geography of the street in which they 
live. The copies of my friend’s papers being confused 
and without date, I cannot pretend to give them in sys- 


220 


SALMAGUNDI. 


tematic order; in fact, they seem now and then to treat 
of matters which have occurred since his departure: 
whether these are sly interpolations of the meddlesome 
wight Will Wizard, or whether honest Mustapha was 
gifted with the spirit of prophecy or second sight, I 
neither know, nor in fact, do I care. The following 
seems to have been written when the Tripolitan pris¬ 
oners were so much annoyed by the ragged state of their 
wardrobe. Mustapha feelingly depicts the embarrass¬ 
ments of his situation, traveller-like; makes an easy 
transition from his breeches to the seat of government, 
and incontinently abuses the whole administration; like 
a sapient traveller I once knew, who damned the French 
nation in toto—because they eat sugar with green peas. 


LETTER FROM MUSTAPHA RUB-A-DUB KELT KHAN, 

CAPTAIN OF A KETCH, TO ASEM HACCHEM, PRINCIPAL SLAVE-DRIVER TO HIS 
HIGHNESS THE BASHAW OF TRIPOLI. 

O WEET, O Asem! is the memory of distant friends! 

like the mellow ray of a departing sun it falls ten- 
derly yet sadly on the heart. Every hour of absence 
from my native land rolls heavily by, like the sandy 
wave of the desert; and the fair shores of my country 
rise blooming to my imagination, clothed in the soft 
illusive charms of distance. I sigh, yet no one listens to 



RIDICULOUS DILEMMA. 


221 


the sigh of the captive; I shed the bitter tear of recol¬ 
lection, but no one sympathizes in the tear of the tur- 
baned stranger! Think not, however, thou brother of 
my soul, that I complain of the horrors of my situation; 
think not that my captivity is attended with the labors, 
the chains, the scourges, the insults, that render slavery, 
with us, more dreadful than the pangs of hesitating, lin¬ 
gering death. Light indeed are the restraints on the 
personal freedom of thy kinsman; but who can enter 
into the afflictions of the mind ?—who can describe the 
agonies of the heart ? They are mutable as the clouds 
of the air—they are countless as the waves that divide 
me from my native country. 

I have, of late, my dear Asem, labored under an incon¬ 
venience singularly unfortunate, and am reduced to a 
dilemma most ridiculously embarrassing. Why should I 
hide it from the companion of my thoughts, the partner 
of my sorrows and my joys ? Alas, Asem! thy friend 
Mustapha, the invincible captain of a ketch, is sadly in 
want of a pair of breeches ! Thou wilt doubtless smile, 
O, most grave Mussulman, to hear me indulge in ardent 
lamentations about a circumstance so trivial, and a want 
apparently so easy to be satisfied; but little canst thou 
know of the mortifications attending my necessities, and 
the astonishing difflculty of supplying them. Honored 
by the smiles and attentions of the beautiful ladies of 
this city, who have fallen in love with my whiskers and 
my turban; courted by the bashaws and the great men, 


222 


SALMAGUNDI. 


who delight to have me at their feasts; the honor of my 
company eagerly solicited by every fiddler who gives a 
concert; think of my chagrin at being obliged to decline 
the host of invitations that daily overwhelm me, merely 
for want of a pair of breeches ! O, Allah! Allah! that 
thy disciples could come into the world all befeathered 
like a bantam, or with a pair of leather breeches like the 
wild deer of the forest! Surely, my friend, it is the 
destiny of man to be forever subjected to petty evils, 
which, however trifling in appearance, prey in silence on 
his little pittance of enjoyment, and poison those mo¬ 
ments of sunshine, which might otherwise be consecrated 
to happiness. 

The want of a garment, thou wilt say, is easily sup¬ 
plied ; and thou mayst suppose need only be mentioned 
to be remedied at once by any tailor of the land; little 
canst thou conceive the impediments which stand in the 
way of my comfort; and still less art thou acquainted 
with the prodigious great scale on which everything is 
transacted in this country. The nation moves most 
majestically slow and clumsy in the most trivial affairs, 
like the unwieldy elephant which makes a formidable 
difficulty of picking up a straw! When I hinted my 
necessities to the officer who has charge of myself and 
my companions, I expected to have them forthwith 
relieved; but he made an amazing long face, told me 
that we were prisoners of state, that we must therefore 
be clothed at the expense of government; that as no 



A PAIR OF BREECHES. 


223 


provision had been made by Congress for any emergency 
of the kind, it was impossible to furnish me with a pair 
of breeches, until all the sages of the nation had been 
convened to talk over the matter, and debate upon the 
expediency of granting my request. Sword of the im¬ 
mortal Khaled, thought I, but this is great! this is truly 
sublime ! All the sages of an immense logocracy assem¬ 
bled together to talk about my breeches ! Vain mortal 
that I am! I cannot but own that I was somewhat 
reconciled to the delay, which must necessarily attend 
this method of clothing me, by the consideration that if 
they made the affair a national act, my “name must 
of course be embodied in history,” and myself and my 
breeches flourish to immortality in the annals of this 
mighty empire! 

“ But pray,” said I, “ how does it happen that a matter 
so insignificant should be erected into an object of such 
importance, as to employ the representative wisdom oi 
the nation; and what is the cause of their talking so 
much about a trifle ? ” “ O,” replied the officer, who acts 
as our slave-driver, “ it all proceeds from economy. If 
the government did not spend ten times as much money 
in debating whether it was proper to supply you with 
breeches, as the breeches themselves would cost, the 
people who govern the bashaw and his divan would 
straightway begin to complain of their liberties being 
infringed; the national finances squandered! Not a 
hostile slang-whanger throughout the logocracy, but 


224 


SALMAOUNDL 


would burst forth like a barrel of combustion; and ten 
chances to one but the bashaw and the sages of his 
divan would all be turned out of office together. My 
good Mussulman,” continued he, “the administration 
have the good of the people too much at heart to trifle 
with their pockets ; and they would sooner assemble and 
talk away ten thousand dollars, than expend fifty silently 
out of the treasury; such is the wonderful spirit of econ¬ 
omy that pervades every branch of this government.” 
“ But,” said I, “ how is it possible they can spend money 
in talking ? surely words cannot be the current coin of 
this country ? ” “ Truly,” cried he, smiling, “ your ques¬ 
tion is pertinent enough, for words indeed often supply 
the place of cash among us, and many an honest debt is 
paid in promises ; but the fact is, the grand bashaw 
and the members of Congress, or grand talkers of the 
nation, either receive a yearly salary, or are paid by the 
day.” “ By the nine hundred tongues of the great beast of 
Mahomet’s vision, but the murder is out—it is no wonder 
these honest men talk so much about nothing, when 
they are paid for talking, like day-laborers.” “You are 
mistaken,” said my driver; “ it is nothing but economy ! ” 
I remained silent for some minutes, for this inexplica¬ 
ble word, economy, always discomfits me; and when I 
flatter myself I have grasped it, it slips through my fin¬ 
gers like a jack-o’-lantern. I have not, nor perhaps ever 
shall acquire, sufficient of the philosophic policy of this 
government to draw a proper distinction between an 


ECONOMY, 


225 


individual and a nation. If a man was to throw away a 
pound in order to save a beggarly penny, and boast at 
the same time of his economy, I should think him on a 
par with the fool in the fable of Alfangi, who, in skinning 
a flint worth a farthing, spoiled a knife worth fifty times 
the sum, and thought he had acted wisely. The shrewd 
fellow would doubtless have valued himself much more 
highly on his economy, could he have known that his 
example would one day be followed by the bashaw ol 
America and the sages of his divan. 

This economic disposition, my friend, occasions much 
fighting of the spirit, and innumerable contests of the 
tongue in this talking assembl3\ Wouldst thou believe 
it ? they were actually employed for a whole week in a 
most strenuous and eloquent debate about patching up a 
hole in the wall of the room appropriated to their meet¬ 
ings ! A vast profusion of nervous argument and pom¬ 
pous declamation was expended on the occasion. Some 
of the orators, I am told, being rather waggishly inclined, 
were most stupidly jocular on the occasion; but their 
waggery gave great offense, and was highly reprobated 
by the more weighty part of the assembly, who held all 
wit and humor in abomination, and thought the busi¬ 
ness in hand much too solemn and serious to be treated 
lightly. It is supposed by some that affair would have 
occupied a whole winter, as it was a subject upon which 
several gentlemen spoke who had never been known to 
open their lips in that place, except to say yes and na 
15 


226 


SALMAGUNDI. 


These silent members are, bj way of distinction, denom¬ 
inated orator mums, and are highly valued in this coun¬ 
try on account of their great talent for silence—a quali¬ 
fication extremely rare in a logocracy. 

Fortunately for the public tranquillity, in the hottest 
part of the debate, when two rampant Virginians, brimful 
of logic and philosophy, were measuring tongues, and 
syllogistically edging each other out of their unreason¬ 
able notions, the president of the divan, a knowing old 
gentleman, one night slyly sent a mason, with a hod of 
mortar, who, in the course of a few minutes, closed up 
the hole, and put a final end to the argument. Thus did 
this wise old gentleman, by hitting on a most simple ex¬ 
pedient, in all probability, save his country as much 
money as would build a gunboat, or pay a hireling slang- 
whanger for a whole volume of words. As it happened, 
only a few thousand dollars were expended in paying 
these men, who are denominated, I suppose in derision, 
legislators. 

Another instance of their economy, I relate with pleas¬ 
ure, for I really begin to feel a regard for these poor 
barbarians. They talked away the best part of a whole 
winter before they could determine not to expend a few 
dollars in purchasing a sword to bestow on an illustrious 
warrior; yes, Asem, on that very hero who frightened all 
our poor old women and young children at Derne,* and 

* General Eaton’s famous adventure on the land expedition from 
Egypt to rescue Bainbridge and the prisoners at Tripoli. 


MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING 


227 


fully proved himself a greater man than the mother that 
bore him. Thus, my friend, is the whole collective wis¬ 
dom of this mighty logocracy employed in somniferous 
debates about the most trivial affairs; like I have some¬ 
times seen a herculean mountebank exerting aU his 
energies in balancing a straw upon his nose. Their 
sages behold the minutest object with the microscopic 
eyes of a pismire; mole-hills swell into mountains, and 
a grain of mustard seed will set the whole ant-hill in a 
hubbub. Whether this indicates a capacious vision or a 
diminutive mind, I leave thee to decide; for my part, I 
consider it as another proof of the great scale on which 
everything is transacted in this country. 

I have before told thee that nothing can be done with¬ 
out consulting the sages of the nation, who compose the 
assembly called the Congress. This prolific body may not 
improperly be termed the “ mother of inventions ; ” and a 
most fruitful mother it is, let me tell thee, though its 
children are generally abortions. It has lately labored 
with what was deemed the conception of a mighty navy. 
All the old women and the good wives that assist the ba¬ 
shaw in his emergencies, hurried to head-quarters to be 
busy, like midwives, at the delivery. All was anxiety, 
fidgeting, and consultation ; when, after a deal of groan¬ 
ing and struggling, instead of formidable first-rates and 
gallant frigates, out crept a litter of sorry little gunboats! 
These are most pitiful little vessels, partaking vastly of the 
character of the grand bashaw, who has the credit of be- 


228 


SALMAGUNDI 


getting them—being flat, shallow vessels that can only sail 
before the wind—must always keep in with the land—are 
continually foundering or running ashore—and, in short, 
are only flt for smooth water. Though intended for the 
defense of the maritime cities, yet the cities are obliged 
to defend them; and they require as much nursing as 
so many rickety little bantlings. They are, however, the 
darling pets of the grand bashaw, being the children 
of his dotage, and, perhaps, from their diminutive size 
and palpable weakness, are called the “ infant navy of 
America.” The act that brought them into existence 
was almost deified by the majority of the people as a 
grand stroke of economy. By the beard of Mahomet, 
but this word is truly inexplicable. 

To this economic body, therefore, was I advised to ad¬ 
dress my petition, and humbly to pray that the august 
assembly of sages would, in the plenitude of their wis¬ 
dom and the magnitude of their powers, munificently 
bestow on an unfortunate captive, a pair of cotton 
breeches! ‘^Head of the immortal Amrou,” cried I, 
“ but this would be presumptuous to a degree; what 1 
after these worthies have thought proper to leave their 
country naked and defenseless, and exposed to all the 
political storms that rattle without, can I expect that 
they will lend a helping hand to comfort the extremities 
of a solitary captive ? ” My exclamation was only an¬ 
swered by a smile, and I was consoled by the assurance 
that, so far from being neglected, it was every way prob- 


MUSTAPHA IN EXTREMITY. 


229 


able my breeches might occupy a whole session of the 
divan, and set several of the longest heads together by 
the ears. Flattering as was the idea of a whole nation 
being agitated about my breeches, yet I own I was some¬ 
what dismayed at the idea of remaining in querjx), until 
all the national gray-beards should have made a speech 
on the occasion, and given their consent to the measure. 
The embarrassment and distress of mind which I experi¬ 
enced was visible in my countenance, and my guard, who 
is a man of infinite good-nature, immediately suggested, 
as a more expeditious plan of supplying my wants, a 
benefit at the theatre. Though profoundly ignorant of his 
meaning, I agreed to his proposition, the result of which 
I shall disclose to thee in another letter. 

Fare thee well, dear Asem ; in thy pious prayers to our 
great prophet, never forget to solicit thy friend’s return ; 
and when thou numberest up the many blessings be¬ 
stowed on thee by all-bountiful Allah, pour forth thy 
gratitude that he has cast thy nativity in a land where 
there is no assembly of legislative chatterers ; no great 
bashaw, who bestrides a gunboat for a hobby-horse ; 
where the word economy is unknown, and where an un¬ 
fortunate captive is not obliged to call upon the whole 
nation to cut him out a pair of breeches. 

Ever thine, 

Mustapha. 


230 


SALMAGUNDI. 


FROM THE MILL OF PINDAR COCKLOFT, ESQ. 

rpHOUGH entered on that sober age, 

When men withdraw from fashion’s stage. 
And leave the follies of the day, 

To shape their course a graver way; 

Still those gay scenes I loiter round. 

In which my youth sweet transport found: 

And though I feel their joys decay. 

And languish every hour away— 

Yet like an exile doom’d to part 
From the dear country of his heart. 

From the fair spot in which he sprung 
Where his first notes of love were sung. 

Will often turn to wave the hand. 

And sigh his blessings on the land ; 

Just so my lingering watch I keep— 

Thus oft I take my farewell peep. 

And, like that pilgrim, who retreats. 

Thus lagging from his parent seats. 

When the sad thought pervades his mind. 

That the fair land he leaves behind 
Is ravaged by a foreign foe. 

Its cities waste, its temples low. 

And ruined all those haunts of joy 
That gave him rapture when a boy; 

Turns from it with averted eye. 

And while he heaves the anguish’d sigh. 


LAUDATOR TEMP US ACTL 


231 


Scarce feels regret that the loved shore 
Shall beam upon his sight no more ; 

Just so it grieves my soul to view, 

While breathing forth a fond adieu. 

The innovations pride has made. 

The fustian, frippery, and parade. 

That now usurp with mawkish grace 
Pure tranquil pleasure’s wonted place ! 

’Twas joy we looked for in my prime. 
That idol of the olden time ; 

When all our pastimes had the art 
To please and not mislead the heart. 

Style curs’d us not—that modern flash. 
That love of racket and of trash. 

Which scares at once all feeling joys. 

And drowns delight in empty noise ; 

Which barters friendship, mirth, and truth. 
The artless air, the bloom of youth. 

And all those gentle sweets that swarm 
Bound nature in her simplest form. 

For cold display, for hollow state. 

The trappings of the would-be great. 

0 ! once again those days recall. 

When heart met heart in fashion’s hall, 
WTien every honest guest would flock 
To add his pleasure to the stock. 

More fond his transports to express. 

Than show the tinsel of his dress !— 

These were the times that clasp’d the soul 
In gentle friendship’s soft control; 


232 


8ALMAGUNDL 


Our fair ones, unprofan’d by art. 

Content to gain one honest heart. 

No train of sighing swains desired. 

Sought to be loved and not admired. 

But now ’tis form, not love unites ; 

’Tis show, not pleasure that invites. 

Each seeks the ball to play the queen. 

To flirt, to conquer, to be seen : 

Each grasps at universal sway, 

And reigns the idol of the day ; 

Exults amid a thousand sighs. 

And triumphs when a lover dies. 

Each belle a rival belle surveys. 

Like deadly foe, with hostile gaze ; 

Nor can her ‘‘ dearest friend ” caress. 

Till she has slyly scann’d her dress ; 

Ten conquests in one year will make. 

And six eternal friendships break ! 

How oft I breathe the inward sigh. 

And feel the dew-drop in my eye. 

When I behold some beauteous frame. 

Divine in everything but name. 

Just venturing, in the tender age. 

On fashion’s late newfangled stage! 

Where soon the guiltless heart shall cease 
To beat in artlessness and peace ; 

Wuere all the flowers of gay delight 
With which youth decks its prospects bright, 
Shall wither ’mid the cares, the strife. 

The cold realities of life ! 


TWO 8I8TER NYMPH8. 


233 


Thus lately, in my careless mood. 

As I the world of fashion view’d. 

While celebrating, great and small. 

That great solemnity—a ball. 

My roving vision chanced to light 
On two sweet forms divinely bright; 

Two sister nymphs, alike in face. 

In mien, in loveliness, and grace ; 

Twin rosebuds, bursting into bloom. 

In all their brilliance and perfume: 

Like those fair forms that often beam 
Upon the eastern poet’s dream 1 
For Eden had each lovely maid 
In native innocence arrayed— 

And heaven itself had almost shed 
Its sacred halo round each head ! 

They seem’d just entering, hand-in-hand. 
To cautious tread this fairy land: 

To take a timid, hasty view. 

Enchanted with a scene so new. 

The modest blush, untaught by art. 
Bespoke their purity of heart; 

And every timorous act unfurl’d 
Two souls unspotted by the world. 

0, how these strangers joy’d my sight, 
And thrilled my bosom with delight! 

They brought the visions of my youth 
Back to my soul in all their truth ; 

Recall’d fair spirits into day. 

That time’s rough hand had swept away 1 


234 


SALMAGUNDI, 


Thus the bright natives from above. 

Who come on messages of love. 

Will bless, at rare and distant whiles. 

Our sinful dwelling by their smiles ! 

0 ! my romance of youth is past. 

Dear airy dreams, too bright to last! 

Yet when such forms as these appear, 

I feel your soft remembrance here ; 

For, ah ! the simple poet’s heart. 

On which fond love once play’d its part. 
Still feels the soft pulsations beat. 

As loath to quit their former seat. 

Just like the harp’s melodious wire. 

Swept by a bard with heavenly fire. 
Though ceased the loudly-swelling strain. 
Yet sweet vibrations long remain. 

Full soon I found the lovely pair 
Had sprung beneath a mother’s care. 
Hard by a neighboring streamlet’s side. 

At once its ornament and pride. 

The beauteous parent’s tender heart 
Had well fulfilled its pious part; 

And, like the holy man of old. 

As we’re by sacred writings told. 

Who, when he from his pupil sped. 

Pour’d twofold blessings on his head— 

So this fond mother had imprest 
Her early virtues in each breast. 

And as she found her stock enlarge, 

Had stampt new graces on her charge. 


GUARDIAN ANGELS. 


235 


The fair resigned the calm retreat. 

Where first their souls in concert beat, 

And flew on expectation’s wing. 

To sip the joys of life’s gay spring; 

To sport in fashion’s splendid maze. 

Where friendship fades, and love decays— 

So two sweet wild flowers, near the side 
Of some fair river’s silver tide. 

Pure as the gentle stream that laves 
The green banks with its lucid waves. 

Bloom beauteous in their native ground, 
Diffusing heavenly fragrance round. 

But should a venturous hand transfer 
These blossoms to the gay parterre. 

Where, spite of artificial aid. 

The fairest plants of nature fade. 

Though they may shine supreme awhile, 

’Mid pale ones of the stranger soil. 

The tender beauties soon decay. 

And their sweet fragrance dies away. 

Blest spirits ! who, enthroned in air. 

Watch o’er the virtues of the fair. 

And with angelic ken survey 
Their windings through life’s checker’d way; 
Who hover round them as they glide 
Down fashion’s smooth deceitful tide, 

And guide them o’er that stormy deep 
Where dissipation’s tempests sweep ; 

0 make this inexperienced pair 
The objects of your tenderest care. 


m 


SALMAGUNDI. 


Preserve them from the languid eye. 

The faded cheek, the long-drawn sigh ; 

And let it he your constant aim 
To keep the fair ones still the same : 

Two sister hearts, unsullied, bright 
As the first beam of lucid light. 

That sparkles from the youthful sun. 

When first his jocund race begun. 

So when these hearts shall burst their shrine, 
To wing their flight to realms divine. 

They may to radiant mansions rise. 

Pure as when first they left the skies. 


NO. X.-SATUKDAY, MAT 16, 1807. 


FROM MY ELBOW-CHAIR. 



|HE long interval which has elapsed since the 
publication of our last number, like many other 
remarkable events, has given rise to much con¬ 
jecture and excited considerable solicitude. It is but a 
day or two since I heard a knowing young gentleman 
observe, that he suspected Salmagundi would be a nine 
days’ wonder, and had even prophesied that the ninth 
would be our last effort. But the age of prophecy, as 
well as that of chivalry, is past; and no reasonable man 
should now venture to foretell aught but what he is de¬ 
termined to bring about himself. He may then, if he 
please, monopolize prediction, and be honored as a 
prophet even in his own country. 

Though I hold whether we write, or not write, to be 
none of the public’s business, yet as I have just heard of 
the loss of three thousand votes at least to the Clinto- 
nians, I feel in a remarkably dulcet humor thereupon, 
and will give some account of the reasons which induce^ 
us to resume our useful labors, or rather our amuse# 
ment; for if writing cost either of us a moment’s labor, 







238 


8ALMA0UNDL 


there is not a man but what would hang up his pen, to 
the great detriment of the world at large, and of our pub¬ 
lisher in particular; who has actually bought himseK a 
pair of trunk breeches, with the profits of our writings!! 

He informs me that several persons having called last 
Saturday for No. X., took the disappointment so much to 
heart that he really apprehended some terrible catas¬ 
trophe; and one good-looking man, in particular, de¬ 
clared his intention of quitting the country if the work 
was not continued. Add to this, the town has grown quite 
melancholy in the last fortnight; and several young 
ladies have declared, in my hearing, that if another 
number did not make its appearance soon, they would 
be obliged to amuse themselves with teasing their beaux 
and making them miserable. Now I assure my readers 
there was no flattery in this, for they no more suspected 
me of being Launcelot Langstaff than they suspected me 
of being the emperor of China, or the man in the moon. 

I have also received several letters complaining of our 
indolent procrastination; and one of my correspondents 
assures me, that a number of young gentlemen, who had 
not read a book through since they left school, but who 
have taken a wonderful liking to our paper, will certainly 
relapse into their old habits unless we go on. 

For the sake, therefore, of all these good people, and 
most especially for the satisfaction of the ladies, every 
one of whom we would love, if we possibly could, I have 
again wielded my pen with a most hearty determination 


PERFECTION OF MODERN MUSIC. 


239 


to set the whole world to rights; to make cherubims and 
seraphs of all the fair ones of this enchanting town, and 
raise the spirits of the poor Federalists, who, in truth, 
seem to be in a sad taking, ever since the American- 
Ticket met with the accident of being so unhappily 
thrown out. 


TO LAUNCELOT LANGSTAFF, ESQ. 

O IK :—I felt myself hurt and offended by Mr. Ever- 
^ green’s terrible philippic against modern music, in 
No. II. of your work, and was under serious apprehension 
that his strictures might bring the art, which I have the 
honor to profess, into contempt. The opinion of your¬ 
self and fraternity appears indeed to have a wonderful 
effect upon the town. I am told the ladies are all em¬ 
ployed in reading Bunyan and “ Pamela,” and the waltz 
has been entirely forsaken ever since the winter balls 
have closed. Under these apprehensions I should have 
addressed you before, had I not been sedulously em¬ 
ployed, while the theatre continued open, in supporting 
the astonishing variety of the orchestra, and in compos¬ 
ing a new chime of Bob-Major for Trinity Church, to be 
rung during the summer, beginning with ding-dong di¬ 
do, instead of di-do ding-dong. The citizens, especially 
those who live in the neighborhood of that harmonious 
quarter, will, no doubt, be infinitely delighted with this 
novelty. 



240 


fSALMAQUNDl. 


But to the object of this communication. So far, siTj 
from agreeing with Mr. Evergreen in thinking that all 
modern music is but the mere dregs and drainings of the 
ancient, I trust, before this letter is concluded, I shall 
convince you and him that some of the late professors of 
this enchanting art have completely distanced the paltry 
efforts of the ancients; and that I, in particular, have at 
length brought it almost to absolute perfection. 

The Greeks, simple souls! were astonished at the 
powers of Orpheus, who made the woods and rocks 
dance to his lyre ;—of Amphion, who converted crotchets 
into bricks, and quavers into mortar; and of Arion, who 
won upon the compassion of the fishes. In the fervency 
of admiration, their poets fabled that Apollo had lent 
them his lyre, and inspired them with his owm spirit of 
harmony. What then would they have said had they 
witnessed the wonderful effects of my skill? had they 
heard me, in the compass of a single piece, describe in 
glowing notes one of the most sublime operations of 
nature ; and not only make inanimate objects dance, but 
even speak ; and not only speak, but speak in strains of 
exquisite harmony ? 

Let me not, however, be understood to say that I am 
the sole author of this extraordinary improvement in the 
art, for I confess I took the hint of many of my dis¬ 
coveries from some of those meritorious productions 
that have lately come abroad and made so much noise 
under the title of overtures. From some of these, as. 


PERFECTION OF MODERN MUSIC, 


241 


for instance, Lodoiska, and the battle of Marengo, a gen¬ 
tleman, or a captain in the city militia, or an amazonian 
young lady may indeed acquire a tolerable idea of mili¬ 
tary tactics, and become very well experienced in the 
firing of musketry, the roaring of cannon, the rattling of 
drums, the whistling of fifes, braying of trumpets, groans 
of the dying, the trampling of cavalry, without ever going 
to the wars; but it is more especially in the art of im¬ 
itating inimitable things and giving the language of 
every passion and sentiment of the human mind, so as 
entirely to do away the necessity of speech, that I par¬ 
ticularly excel the most celebrated musicians of ancient 
and modern times. 

I think, sir, I may venture to say there is not a sound 
in the whole compass of nature which I cannot imitate, 
and even improve upon—nay, what I consider the per¬ 
fection of my art, I have discovered a method of express^ 
ing, in the most striking manner, that undefinable, inde¬ 
scribable silence which accompanies the falling of snow. 

In order to prove to you that I do not arrogate to 
myself what I am unable to perform, I will detail to you 
the different movements of a grand piece, which I pride 
myself upon exceedingly, called the “ Breaking up of the 
Ice in the North Eiver.” 

The piece opens with a gentle andante affetnoso, which 
ushers you into the Assembly-room in the State House 
at Albany, where the speaker addresses the farewell 
speech, informing the members that the ice is about 
16 


242 


SALMAGUNDI. 


breaking up, and thanking them for their great services 
and good behavior in a manner so pathetic as to bring 
tears into their eyes.—Flourish of Jack-a-donkeys.—Ice 
cracks ; Albany in a hubbub—air, “ Three children slid¬ 
ing on the ice, all on a summer’s day.”—Citizens quar¬ 
reling in Dutch;—chorus of a tin trumpet, a cracked 
fiddle, and a hand-saw !— allegro moderato. —Hard frost— 
this, if given with proper spirit, has a charming effect, 
and sets everybody’s teeth chattering.—Symptoms of 
snow—consultation of old women who complain of pains 
in the bones and rheumatics; —air, ‘‘There was an old 
woman tossed up in a blanket,” etc.— allegro staccato; 
wagon breaks into the ice—people all run to see what is 
the matter; air, siciliano —“ Can you row the boat ashore, 
Billy boy, Billy boy ? ”— andante —frost fish froze up in 
the ice—air, “Ho, why dost thou shiver and shake, 
Gaffer Gray, and why does thy nose look so blue ? ”— 
Flourish of twopenny trumpets and rattles—consultation 
of the North Eiver Society—determine to set the North 
Kiver on fire, as soon as it will burn—air, “ O, what a 
fine kettle of fish.” 

Part II.— Great Thaw. —This consists of the most 
melting strains, flowing so smoothly as to occasion a 
great overflowing of scientific rapture; air, “ One misty 
moisty morning.” The House of Assembly breaks up— 
air, “ The owls came out and flew about.”—Assemblymen 
embark on their way to New York—air, “ The ducks and 
geese they all swim over, fal de ral,” etc.—^Vessel sets 


OPERATIC. 


243 


Bail—chorus of mariners—“Steer her up, and let her 
gang.” After this a rapid movement conducts you to 
New York—the North River Society hold a meeting at 
the corner of Wall Street, and determine to delay burn¬ 
ing till all the Assemblymen are safe at home, for fear of 
consuming some of their own members, who belong to 
that respectable body.—Return again to the capital.— 
Ice floats down the river—lamentation of skaters; air, 
affetuoso —“I sigh and lament me in vain,” etc.—^Alba¬ 
nians cutting up sturgeon; air, “O the roast beef of 
Albany.”—Ice runs against Polopoy’s Island with a ter¬ 
rible crash. This is represented by a flerce fellow trav¬ 
elling with his fiddlestick over a huge bass viol, at the 
rate of one hundred and fifty bars per minute, and tear¬ 
ing the music to rags; this being what is called execu¬ 
tion. The great body of ice passes West Point, and is 
saluted by three or four dismounted cannon from Port 
Putnam—“Jefferson’s March,” by a full band—air, 
“ Yankee Doodle,” with seventy-six variations, never 
before attempted, except by the celebrated eagle which 
flutters his wings over the copper-bottomed angel at 
Messrs. Paff’s in Broadway. Ice passes New York— 
conch-shell sounds at a distance—ferrymen call o-v-e-r— 
people run down Courtlandt Street—ferry-boat sets sail 
—air, accompanied by the conch-shell, “ We’ll all go over 
the ferry.”—Rondeau—giving a particular account of 
Brom, the Powles Hook admiral, who is supposed to be 
closely connected with the North River Society.—The 


244 


8ALMAQUNDI. 


Society make a grand attempt to fire the stream, but are 
utterly defeated by a remarkable high tide, which brings 
the plot to light, drowns upward of a thousand rats, and 
occasions twenty robins to break their necks.* Society, 
not being discouraged, apply to “ Common Sense ” for 
his lantern—air, “ Nose, nose, jolly red nose.” Flock of 
wild geese fly over the city—old wives chatter in the fog 
—cocks crow at Communipaw—drums beat on Gov¬ 
ernor’s Island.—The whole to conclude with the blowing 
up of Sand’s powder-house. 

Thus, sir, you perceive what wonderful powers of ex¬ 
pression have been hitherto locked up in this enchanting 
art; a whole history is here told without the aid of 
speech or writing; and provided the hearer is in the 
least acquainted with music, he cannot mistake a single 
note. As to the blowing up of the powder-house, I look 
upon it as a chef d’oeuvre, which I am confident will de¬ 
light all modern amateurs, who very properly estimate 
music in proportion to the noise it makes, and delight in 
thundering cannon and earthquakes. 

I must confess, however, it is a very difficult part to 
manage, and I have already broken six pianos in giving 
it the proper force and effect. But I do not despair, and 
am quite certain that by the time I have broken eight or 
ten more, I shall have brought it to such perfection as 
to be able to teach any young lady of tolerable ear to 


* Vide Solomon Lang. 


FLUTE AND FIDDLE. 


245 


thunder it away, to the infinite delight of papa and 
mamma, and the great annoyance of those vandals who 
are so barbarous as to prefer the simple melody of a 
Scots air to the sublime effusions of modem musical 
doctors. 

In my warm anticipations of future improvement I 
have sometimes almost convinced myself that music will, 
in time, be brought to such a climax of perfection as to 
supersede the necessity of speech and writing; and every 
kind of social intercourse be conducted by the flute and 
fiddle. The immense benefits that will result from this 
improvement must be plain to every man of the least 
consideration. In the present unhappy situation of mor¬ 
tals, a man has but one way of making himself perfectly 
understood; if he loses his speech, he must inevitably be 
dumb all the rest of his life; but having once learned 
this new musical language, the loss of speech will be a 
mere trifle, not worth a moment’s uneasiness. Not only 
this, Mr. L., but it will add much to the harmony of do¬ 
mestic intercourse; for it is certainly much more agree¬ 
able to hear a lady give lectures on the piano than vivd 
vocCf in the usual discordant measure. This manner of 
discoursing may also, I think, be introduced with great 
effect into our national assemblies, where every man, 
instead of wagging his tongue, should be obliged to flour¬ 
ish a fiddle-stick, by which means, if he said nothing to 
the purpose, he would, at all events, “discourse most 
eloquent music,” which is more than can be said of most of 


246 


SALMAGUNDI. 


them at present. They might also sound their own trum- 
pets without being obliged to a hireling scribbler, for an 
immortality of nine days, or subjected to the censure of 
egotism. 

But the most important result of this discovery is that 
it may be applied to the establishment of that great 
desideratum, in the learned world, a universal language. 
Wherever this science of music is cultivated, nothing 
more will be necessary than a knowledge of its alphabet; 
which, being almost the same everywhere, will amount 
to a universal medium of communication. A man may 
thus, with his violin under his arm, a piece of rosin, and 
a few bundles of catgut, fiddle his way through the 
world, and never be at a loss to make himself under¬ 
stood. 

I am, etc.. 

Demy Semiquaver. 


THE STRANGER IN PENNSYLVANIA. 

BY JEREMY COCKLOFT, THE YOUNGER. 

CHAPTER I. 

/^EOSS the Delaware—knew I was in Pennsylvania, 
because all the people were fat and looked like the 
statue of William Penn—Bristol—very remarkable for 
having nothing in it worth the attention of the traveller 



COCKLOFT ON HIS TEA VELS. 


247 


—saw Burlington on the opposite side of the river—fine 
place for pigeon-houses—and why ?—Pennsylvania fa¬ 
mous for barns—cattle in general better lodged than the 
farmers—barns appear to be built, as the old Eoman 
peasant planted his trees, “for posterity and the im¬ 
mortal gods.” Saw several fine bridges of two or three 
arches, built over dry places—wondered what could be 
the use of them—reminded me of the famous bridge at 
Madrid, built over no water—Chamouny—floating bridge 
made of pine logs fastened together by ropes of walnut 
bark—strange that the people who have such a taste for 
bridges should not have taken advantage of this river to 
indulge in their favorite kind of architecture !—expressed 
my surprise to a fellow-passenger, who observed to me 
with great gravity, “ that nothing was more natural than 
that people who build bridges over dry places should 
neglect them where they are really necessary”—could 
not, for the head of me, see to the bottom of the man’s 
reasoning—about half an hour after it struck me that he 
had been quizzing me a little—didn’t care much about 
that—revenge myself by mentioning him in my book. 
Village of Washington—very pleasant, and remarkable 
for being built on each side of the road—houses all cast 
in the same mould—have a very Quakerish appearance, 
being built of stone, plastered and whitewashed, and 
green doors, ornamented with brass knockers, kept very 
bright—saw several genteel young ladies scouring them 
—which was no doubt the reason of their brightness. 


248 


SALMAGUNDI, 


Breakfasted at the Fox Chasa—recommend this house to 
all gentlemen travelling for information, as the landlady 
makes the best buckwheat cakes in the whole world; 
and because it bears the same name with a play, written 
by a young gentleman of Philadelphia, which, notwith¬ 
standing its very considerable merit, was received at that 
city with indifference and neglect, because it had no 
puns in it. Frankfort in the mud —very picturesque 
town, situated on the edge of a pleasant swamp—or 
meadow, as they call it—houses all built of turf, cut in 
imitation of stone—poor substitute—took in a couple of 
Princeton students, who were going on to the southward, 
to tell their papas (or rather their mammas) what fine 
manly little boys they were, and how nobly they resisted 
the authority of the trustees—both pupils of Godwin 
and Tom Paine—talked about the rights of man, the 
social compact, and the perfectibility of boys—hope 
their parents will whip them when they get home, and 
send them back to the college without any spending 
money. Turnpike gates—direction to keep to the right 
as the law directs—very good advice, in my opinion ; but 
one of the students swore he had no idea of submitting 
to this kind of oppression, and insisted on the driver’s 
taking the left passage, in order to show the world we 
were not to be imposed upon by such arbitrary rules— 
driver, who, I believe, had been a student at Princeton 
himself, shook his head like a professor, and said it 
would not do. Entered Philadelphia through the sub- 


PUN MANIA. 


249 


urbs—four little markets in a herd—one turned into a 
school for young ladies—mem. young ladies early in the 
market here—pun—good. 

CHAPTER n. 

Very ill—confined to my bed with a violent fit of the 
pun mania—strangers always experience an attack of the 
kind on their first arrival, and undergo a seasoning as 
Europeans do in the West Indies. In my way from the 
stage-office to Kenshaw’s I was accosted by a good-look¬ 
ing young gentleman from New Jersey, who had caught 
the infection—he took me by the button and informed 
me of a contest that had lately taken place between a 
tailor and shoemaker about I forget what;—Snip was 
pronounced a fellow of great capability, a man of gentle¬ 
manly habits, who would doubtless suit everybody. The 
shoemaker bristled up at this, and waxed exceedingly 
wroth—swore the tailor was but a half-souled fellow, and 
that it was to shew ne was never cut-out for a gentleman. 
The choler of the tailor was up in an instant, he swore 
by his thimble that he would never pocket such an insult, 
but would baste any man who dared to repeat it.—Honest 
Crispin was now worked up to his proper piVcA, and was 
determined to yield the tailor no quarters ;—he vowed he 
would lose his all but what he would gain his ends. He 
resolutely held on to the last, and on his threatening to 
backstrap his adversary, the tailor was obliged to sheer 


250 


SALMAOXTNDL 


off, declaring at the same time, that he would Ltve him 
hmind over. The young gentleman, having finished his 
detail, gave a most obstreperous laugh, and hurried off 
to tell his story to somebody else —Licentia punica, as 
Horace observes—it did my business—I went home, took 
to my bed, and was two days confined with this singular 
complaint. 

Having, however, looked about me with the Argus eyes 
of a traveller, I have picked up enough in the course of 
my walk from the stage-office to the hotel, to give a full 
and impartial account of this remarkable city. Accord¬ 
ing to the good old rule, I shall begin with the ety 
mology of its name, which, according to Linkum Fide- 
lius, Tom. LV., is clearly derived, either from the name 
of its first founder, viz. Philo Dripping-pan, or the sin¬ 
gular taste of the aborigines, who flourished there on his 
arrival. Linkum, who is as shrewd a fellow as any theo¬ 
rist or F. S. A. for peeping with a dark lantern into the 
lumber garret of antiquity, and lugging out all the trash 
which was left there for oblivion by our wiser ancestors, 
supports his opinion by a prodigious number of inge¬ 
nious and inapplicable arguments; but particularly rests 
his position on the known fact, that Philo Dripping-pan 
was remarkable for his predilection to eating, and his 
love of what the learned Dutch call doup. Our erudite 
author likewise observes that the citizens are to this day 
noted for their love of ‘‘a sop in the pan,” and their 
portly appearance, “ except, indeed,” continues he, “ the 


A COJV'TJiAST. 


251 


young ladies, who are perfectly genteel in their dimen¬ 
sions ”—this, however, he ill-naturedly enough attributes 
to their eating pickles, and drinking vinegar. 

The Philadelphians boast much of the situation and 
plan of their city, and well may they, since it is, un¬ 
doubtedly, as fair and square, and regular and right- 
angled, as any mechanical genius could have possibly 
made it. I am clearly of opinion that this humdrum 
regularity has a vast effect on the character of its inhab¬ 
itants and even on their looks, “for you will observe,’* 
writes Linkum, “ that they are an honest, worthy, square, 
good-looking, well-meaning, regular, uniform, straight¬ 
forward, clock-work, clear-headed, one-like-another, salu¬ 
brious, upright, kind of people, who always go to work 
methodically, never put the cart before the horse, talk 
like a book, walk mathematically, never turn but in right 
angles, think syllogistically, and pun theoretically J^c- 
cording to the genuine rules of Cicero and Dean Swift; 
—whereas the people of New York—God help them— 
tossed about over hills and dales, through lanes and 
alleys, and crooked streets—continually mounting and 
descending, turning and twisting—whisking off at tan¬ 
gents, and left-angle-triangles, just like their own queer, 
odd, topsy-turvy, rantipole city, are the most irregular, 
crazy-headed, quicksilver, eccentric, whimwhamsical set 
of mortals that ever were jumbled together in this un¬ 
even, villainous, revolving globe, and are the very anti- 
podeans to the Philadelphians.*’ 


252 


SALMAQUNBL 


The streets of Philadelphia are wide and straight, 
which is wisely ordered, for the inhabitants having gen¬ 
erally crooked noses, and most commonly travelling hard 
after them, the good folks would undoubtedly soon go to 
the wally in the crooked streets of our city. This fact of 
the crooked noses has not been hitherto remarked by 
any of our American travellers, but must strike every 
stranger of the least observation. There is, however, one 
place which I would recommend to all my fellow-citi¬ 
zens, who may come after me, as a promenade—I mean 
Dock street—the only street in Philadelphia that bears 
any resemblance to New York—how tender, how exquis¬ 
ite are the feelings awakened in the breast of a traveller, 
when his eye encounters some object which reminds him 
of his far distant country! The pensive New Yorker, 
having drank his glass of porter, and smoked his cigar 
after dinner (by the way I would recommend Sheaff, as 
selling the best Philadelphia), may here direct his sol¬ 
itary steps and indulge in that mellow tenderness in 
which the sentimental Kotzebue erst delighted to wallow 
—he may recall the romantic scenery and graceful wind¬ 
ings of Maiden Lane and Pearl street, trace the tumul¬ 
tuous gutter in its harmonious meanderings, and almost 
fancy he beholds the moss-crowned roof of the Bear 
Market, or the majestic steeple of St. Paul’s towering to 
the clouds.—Perhaps, too, he may have left behind him 
some gentle fair one, who, all the livelong evening, sits 
pensively at the window, leaning on her elbows, and 


THE CITY OF PENN. 


253 


cotmting the lingering, lame, and broken-winded mo¬ 
ments that so tediously lengthen the hours which sepa¬ 
rate her from the object of her contemplations !—delight¬ 
ful Lethe of the soul—sunshine of existence—wife and 
children poking up the cheerful evening fire—paper win¬ 
dows, mud walls, love in a cottage—sweet sensibility— 
and all that. 

Everybody has heard of the famous Bank of Pennsyl¬ 
vania, which, since the destruction of the tomb of Mauso- 
lus, and the Colossus of Rhodes, may fairly be estimated 
as one of the wonders of the world. My landlord thinks 
it unquestionably the finest building upon earth. The 
honest man has never seen the theatre in New York, or 
the new brick church at the head of Rector street, which, 
when finished, will beyond all doubt be infinitely supe¬ 
rior to the Pennsylvania barns I noted before. 

Philadelphia is a place of great trade and commerce— 
not but that it would have been much more so, that is, 
had it been built on the site of New York: but as New 
York has engrossed its present situation, I think Phila¬ 
delphia must be content to stand where it does at present 
—at any rate it is not Philadelphia’s fault, nor is it any 
concern of mine, so I shall not make myself uneasy about 
the afiair. Besides, to use Trim’s argument, were that 
city to stand where New York does, it might perhaps 
have the misfortune to be called New York and not 
Philadelphia, which would be quite another matter, and 
this portion of my travels had undoubtedly been smoth- 


254 


8ALMAQUNDL 


ered before it was born—which would have been a thou¬ 
sand pities indeed. 

Of the manufactures of Philadelphia, I can say but 
little, except that the people are famous for an excellent 
kind of confectionery, made from the drainings of sugar. 
The process is simple as any in Mrs. Glasse’s excellent 
and useful work (which I hereby recommend to the fair 
hands of all young ladies, who are not occupied in read¬ 
ing Moore’s poems)—you buy a pot—put your molasses 
in your pot (if you can beg, borrow, or steal your mo¬ 
lasses it will come much cheaper than if you buy it)— 
boil your molasses to a proper consistency; but if you 
boil it too much, it will be none the better for it—then 
pour it off and let it cool, or draw it out into little pieces 
about nine inches long, and put it by for use. This man¬ 
ufacture is called by the Bostonians lasses candy, by the 
New Yorkers, cocJc-a-nee~nee —but by the polite Philadel¬ 
phians, by a name utterly impossible to pronounce. 

The Philadelphia ladies are some of them beautiful, 
some of them tolerably good looking, and some of them, 
to say the truth, are not at all handsome. They are, 
however, very agreeable in general, except those who are 
reckoned witty, who, if I might be allowed to speak my 
mind, are very disagreeable, particularly to young gen¬ 
tlemen, who are travelling for information. Being fond 
of tea-parties, they are a little given to criticism—but 
are in general remarkably discreet, and very industrious 
as I have been assured by some of my friends. Take 


TEE LADIES. 


255 


them all in all, however, they are much inferior to the 
ladies of New York, as plainly appears from several 
3^oung gentlemen having fallen in love with some of our 
belles, after resisting all the female attractions of Phila¬ 
delphia. From this inferiority, I except one, who is the 
most amiable, the most accomplished, the most bewitch¬ 
ing, and the most of everything that constitutes the 
divinity of woman—mem .—golden apple! 

The amusements of the Philadelphians are dancing, 
punning, tea-parties, and theatrical exhibitions. In the 
first, they are far inferior to the young people of New 
York, owing to the misfortune of their mostly preferring 
to idle away time in the cultivation of the head instead 
of the heels. It is a melancholy fact that an i nfini te 
number of young ladies in Philadelphia, whose minds are 
elegantly accomplished in literature, have sacrificed to 
the attainment of such trifling acquisitions, the pigeon¬ 
wing, the waltz, the Cossack dance, and other matters of 
equal importance. On the other hand, they excel the 
New Yorkers in punning, and in the management of tea- 
parties. In New York you never hear, except from some 
young gentleman just returned from a visit to Philadel¬ 
phia, a single attempt at punning, and at a tea-party, the 
ladies in general are disposed close together, like a set¬ 
ting of jewels, or pearls round a locket, in all the majesty 
of good behavior—and if a gentleman wishes to have a 
conversation with one of them, about the backwardness 
of the spring, the improvements in the theatre, or the 


256 


SALMAGUNDI, 


merits of his horse, he is obliged to march up in the face 
of such volleys of eye-shot! such a formidable artillery 
of glances I If he escapes annihilation, he should cry 
out a miracle! and never encounter such dangers again. 
I remember to have once heard a very valiant British 
officer, who had served with great credit for some years 
in the train-bands, declare with a veteran oath, that 
sooner than encounter such deadly peril, he would fight 
his way clear through a London mob, though he were 
pelted with brick-bats all the time. Some ladies who 
were present at this declaration of the gallant officer, 
were inclined to consider it a great compliment, until 
one, more knowing than the rest, declared, with a little 
piece of a sneer, “ that they were very much obliged to 
him for likening the company to a London mob, and 
their glances to brick-bats.” The officer looked blue, 
turned on his heel, made a fine retreat, and went home 
with a determination to quiz the American ladies as 
soon as he got to London. 


NO. XL—TUESDAY, JUNE 2, 1807. 

LETTER FROM MUSTAPHA RUB-A-DUB KELI KHAN, 

CAPTAIN OF A KETCH, TO A8EM HACCHEM, PRINCIPAL 8LAVE-DBIVEB 
TO HIS HIGHNESS THE BASHAW OF TRIPOLI. 


HE deep shadows of midnight gather around 
me; the footsteps of the passengers have 
ceased in the streets, and nothing disturbs the 
holy silence of the hour save the sound of the distant 
drums, mingled with the shouts, the bawlings, and the 
discordant revelry of his majesty, the Sovereign Mob, 
Let the hour be sacred to friendship, and consecrated to 
thee, 0 thou brother of my inmost soul! 

O Asem! I almost shrink at the recollection of the 
scenes of confusion, of licentious disorganization which I 
have witnessed during the last three days. I have be¬ 
held this whole city, nay, this whole State, given up to 
the tongue and the pen; to the puffers, the bawlers, the 
babblers, and the slangwhangers. I have beheld the 
community convulsed with a civil war, or civil talk; 
individuals verbally massacred, families annihilated 
by whole sheets full, and slangwhangers coolly bathing 


17 


Q!57 











258 


SALMAGUNDI 


their pens in ink and rioting in the slaughter of their 
thousands. I have seen, in short, that awful despot, the 
People, in the moment of unlimited power, wielding 
newspapers in one hand, and with the other scattering 
mud and filth about, like some desperate lunatic relieved 
from the restraints of his strait waistcoat. I have seen 
beggars on horseback, ragamuffins riding in coaches, and 
swine seated in places of honor; I have seen liberty; I 
have seen equality; I have seen fraternity. I have seen 
that great political puppet-show—an Election. 

A few days ago the friend, whom I have mentioned in 
some of my former letters, called upon me to accompany 
him to witness this grand ceremony; and we forthwith 
sallied out to the polls, as he called them. Though for 
several weeks before this splendid exhibition nothing 
else had been talked of, yet I do assure thee I was en¬ 
tirely ignorant of its nature ; and when, on coming up to 
a church, my companion informed me we were at the 
polls, I supposed that an election was some great re¬ 
ligious ceremony, like the fast of Kamazan, or the great 
festival of Haraphat, so celebrated in the East. 

My friend, however, undeceived me at once, and en¬ 
tered into a long dissertation on the nature and object 
of an election, the substance of which was nearly to this 
effect:— 

“ You know,” said he, “ that this country is engaged in 
a violent internal warfare, and suffers a variety of evils 
from civil dissensions. An election is the grand trial of 


AN ELECTION 


259 


strength, the decisive battle when the belligerents draw 
out their forces in martial array; when every leader, 
burning with warlike ardor, and encouraged by the 
shouts and acclamations of tatterdemalions, buffoons, 
dependents, parasites, toad-eaters, scrubs, vagrants, 
mumpers, ragamuffins, bravoes, and beggars in his rear; 
and puffed up by his bellows-blowing slangwhangers, 
waves gallantly the banners of faction, and presses for¬ 
ward to office and immortality ! 

“For a month or two previous to the critical period 
which is to decide this important affair, the whole com¬ 
munity is in a ferment. Every man, of whatever rank or 
degree—such is the wonderful patriotism of the people 
—disinterestedly neglects his business to devote himself 
to his country; and not an insignificant fellow but feels 
himself inspired, on this occasion, with as much warmth 
in favor of the cause he has espoused, as if all the com¬ 
fort of his life, or even his life itself, was dependent on 
the issue. Grand councils of war are, in the first place, 
called by the different powers, which are dubbed general 
meetings, where all the head workmen of the party col¬ 
lect, and arrange the order of battle—appoint their differ¬ 
ent commanders, and their subordinate instruments, and 
furnish the funds indispensable for supplying the ex¬ 
penses of the war. Inferior councils are next called in 
the different classes or wards, consisting of young cadets, 
who are candidates for offices; idlers who come there for 
mere curiosity; and orators who appear for the purpose 


260 


8ALMAGUNDL 


of detailing all the crimes, the faults, or the weaknesses 
of their opj)onents, and speaking the sense of the meeting^ 
as it is called; for as the meeting generally consists of 
men whose quota of sense, taken individually, would 
make but a poor figure, these orators are appointed to 
collect it all in a lump; when, I assure you, it makes a 
very formidable appearance, and furnishes sufficient mat¬ 
ter to spin an oration of two or three hours. 

“ The orators who declaim at these meetings are, with 
a few exceptions, men of the most profound and per¬ 
plexed eloquence ; who are the oracles of barbers’ shops, 
market-places, and porter-houses; and whom you may 
see every day at the corners of the streets, taking honest 
men prisoners by the button, and talking their ribs 
quite bare without mercy and without end. These ora¬ 
tors, in addressing an audience, generally mount a chair, 
a table, or an empty beer barrel, which last is supposed 
to afford considerable inspiration, and thunder away 
their combustible sentiments at the heads of the audi¬ 
ence, who are generally so busily employed in smoking, 
drinking, and hearing themselves talk, that they seldom 
hear a word of the matter. This, however, is of little 
moment: for as they come there to agree, at all events, 
to a certain set of resolutions, or articles of war, it is not 
at all necessary to hear the speech; more especially as 
few would understand it if they did. Do not suppose, 
however, that the minor persons of the meeting are en¬ 
tirely idle. Besides smoking and drinking, which are 


POLITICAL ORATORY. 


261 


generally practiced, there are few who do not come with 
as great a desire to talk as the orator himself; each has 
his little circle of listeners, in the midst of whom he sets 
his hat on one side of his head, and deals out matter-of- 
fact information, and draws self-evident conclusions with 
the pertinacity of a pedant, and to the great edification of 
his gaping auditors. Nay, the very urchins from the nurs¬ 
ery, who are scarcely emancipated from the dominion of 
birch, on these occasions strut pigmy great men, bellow 
for the instruction of gray-bearded ignorance, and, like 
the frog in the fable, endeavor to puff themselves up to 
the size of the great object of their emulation—the prin¬ 
cipal orator.” 

“ But is it not preposterous to a degree,” cried I, “ for 
those puny whipsters to attempt to lecture age and ex¬ 
perience? They should be sent to school to learn 
better.” 

“ Not at all,” replied my friend; “ for as an election is 
nothing more than a war of words, the man that can wag 
his tongue with the greatest elasticity, whether he speaks 
to the purpose or not, is entitled to lecture at ward meet¬ 
ings and polls, and instruct all who are inclined to listen 
to him; you may have remarked a ward meeting of poli¬ 
tic dogs, where, although the great dog is, ostensibly, the 
leader, and makes the most noise, yet every little scoun¬ 
drel of a cur has something to say; and in proportion to 
his insignificance, fidgets, and worries, and puffs about 
mightily, in order to obtain the notice and approbation 


262 


SALMAOUNDL 


of his betters. Thus it is with these little, beardless, 
bread-and-butter politicians, who on this occasion escape 
from the jurisdiction of their mammas to attend to the af¬ 
fairs of the nation. You will see them engaged in dread¬ 
ful wordy contest with old cartmen, cobblers, and tailors, 
and plume themselves not a little if they should chance 
to gain a victory. Aspiring spirits! how interesting are 
the first dawnings of political greatness! An election, 
my friend, is a nursery or hot-bed of genius in a logoc- 
racy; and I look with enthusiasm on a troop of these 
Liliputian partisans, as so many chatterers, and orators 
and puffers, and slangwhangers in embryo, who will one 
day take an important part in the quarrels and wordy 
wars of their country. 

“As the time for fighting the decisive battle ap¬ 
proaches, appearances become more and more alarm¬ 
ing ; committees are appointed, who hold little encamp¬ 
ments from whence they send out small detachments 
of tattlers, to reconnoitre, harass, and skirmish with the 
enemy, and, if possible, ascertain their numbers; every¬ 
body seems big with the mighty event that is impending; 
the orators, they gradually swell up beyond their usual 
size ; the little orators, they grow greater and greater; 
the secretaries of the ward committees strut about, look¬ 
ing like wooden oracles ; the puffers put on the airs of 
mighty consequence; the slangwhangers deal out direful 
innuendoes, and threats of doughty import, and all is 
buzz, murmur, suspense, and sublimity! 


ELECTION TACTICS. 


263 


“ At length the day arrives. The storm that has been 
so long gathering and threatening in distant thunders, 
bursts forth in terrible explosion; all business is at an 
end ; the whole city is in a tumult; the people are run¬ 
ning helter-skelter, they know not whither, and they 
know not why; the hackney coaches rattle through the 
streets with thundering vehemence, loaded with recruit¬ 
ing sergeants who have been prowling in cellars and 
caves, to unearth some miserable minion of poverty 
and ignorance, who will barter his vote for a glass of 
beer, or a ride in a coach with such fine gentlemen I the 
buzzards of the party scamper from poll to poll, on foot 
or on horseback; and they worry from committee to 
committee, and buzz, and fume, and talk big, and —do 
nothing ; like the vagabond drone, who wastes his time in 
the laborious idleness of see-saw-song and busy nothing¬ 
ness.” 

I know not how long my friend would have continued 
his detail, had he not been interrupted by a squabble 
which took place between two M continentals^ as they 
were called. It seems they had entered into an argu¬ 
ment on the respective merits of their cause, and not be¬ 
ing able to make each other clearly understood, resorted 
to what is called knock-down arguments, which form the 
superlative degree of argumentum ad hominem; but are, 
in my opinion, extremely inconsistent with the true spirit 
of a genuine logocracy. After they had beaten each 
other soundly, and set the whole mob together by the 


264 


SALMAGUNDI, 


ears, they came to a full explanation; when it was dis¬ 
covered that they were both of the same way of thinking; 
whereupon they shook each other heartily by the hand, 
and laughed with great glee at their humorous misunder¬ 
standing. 

I could not help being struck with the exceeding great 
number of ragged, dirty-looking persons that swaggered 
about the place, and seemed to think themselves the 
bashaws of the land. I inquired of my friend if these 
people were employed to drive away the hogs, dogs, and 
other intruders that might thrust themselves in and in¬ 
terrupt the ceremony ? 

“ By no means,” replied he ; “ these are the represen¬ 
tatives of the sovereign people, who come here to make 
governors, senators, and members of assembly, and are 
the source of all power and authority in this nation.” 

“ Preposterous! ” said I; how is it possible that 
such men can be capable of distinguishing between an 
honest man and a knave; or, even if they were, will it 
not always happen that they are led by the nose by some 
intriguing demagogue, and made the mere tools of ambi¬ 
tious political jugglers ? Surely it would be better to trust 
to Providence, or even to chance, for governors, than re¬ 
sort to the discriminating powers of an ignorant mob. 
I plainly perceive the consequence. A man, who pos¬ 
sesses superior talents, and that honest pride which ever 
accompanies this possession, will always be sacrificed 
by some creeping insect who will prostitute himself to 


THE 80 VEREIGN PEOPLE. 


265 


familiarity with the lowest of mankind; and, like the 
idolatrous Egyptian, worship the wallowing tenants of 
filth and mire.” 

“All this is true enough,” replied my friend, “but 
after all, you cannot say but that this is a free country, 
and that the people can get drunk cheaper here, particu¬ 
larly at elections, than in the despotic countries of the 
East.” I could not, with any degree of propriety or 
truth, deny this last assertion; for just at that moment 
a patriotic brewer arrived with a load of beer, which, 
for a moment, occasioned a cessation of argument. The 
great crowd of buzzards, puffers, and “ old continentals ” 
of all parties, who throng to the polls, to persuade, to 
cheat, or to force the freeholders into the right way, and 
to maintain the freedom of suffrage, seemed for a moment 
to forget their antipathies, and joined heartily in a copi¬ 
ous libation of this patriotic and argumentative beverage. 

These beer-barrels, indeed, seem to be most able logi¬ 
cians, well stored with that kind of sound argument best 
suited to the comprehension, and most relished by the 
mob, or sovereign people, who are never so tractable as 
when operated upon by this convincing liquor, which, in 
fact, seems to be imbued with the very spirit of a logoc- 
racy. No sooner does it begin its operation, than the 
tongue waxes exceeding valorous, and becomes impa¬ 
tient for some mighty conflict. The puffer puts himself 
at the head of his body-guard of buzzards, and his legion 
of ragamuffins, and woe then to every unhappy adversary 


266 


SALMAGUNDI. 


who is uninspired by the deity of the beer-barrel—he is 
sure to be talked, and argued, into complete insignifi¬ 
cance. 

While I was making these observations, I was sur¬ 
prised to observe a bashaw, high in office, shaking a 
fellow by the hand, that looked rather more ragged than 
a scarecrow, and inquiring with apparent solicitude con¬ 
cerning the health of his family; after which he slipped 
a little folded paper into his hand and turned away. I 
could not help applauding his humility in shaking the 
fellow’s hand, and his benevolence in relieving his dis¬ 
tresses, for I imagined the paper contained something for 
the poor man’s necessities; and truly he seemed verging 
toward the last stage of starvation. My friend, however, 
soon undeceived me by saying that this was an elector, 
and that the bashaw had merely given him the list of 
candidates for whom he was to vote. 

“ Ho! ho! ” said I, “ then he is a particular friend of 
the bashaw ? ” 

“ By no means,” replied my friend, “ the bashaw will 
pass him without notice, the day after the election, ex¬ 
cept, perhaps, just to drive over him with his coach.” 

My friend then proceeded to inform me that for some 
time before, and during the continuance of an election, 
there was a most delectable courtship, or intrigue car¬ 
ried on between the great bashaws and the mother mob. 
That mother Mob generally preferred the attentions of 
the rabble, or of fellows of her own stamp; but would 


ELECTION GHOSTS. 


267 


sometimes condescend to be treated to a feasting, or 
anything of that kind, at the bashaw’s expense ! Nay, 
sometimes when she was in good humor, she would con¬ 
descend to toy with him in her rough way: but woe to 
the bashaw who attempted to be familiar with her, for 
she was the most petulant, cross, crabbed, scolding, 
thieving, scratching, toping, wrongheaded, rebellious, 
and abominable termagant that ever was let loose in the 
world to the confusion of honest gentlemen bashaws. 

Just then a fellow came round and distributed among 
the crowd a number of handbills, written by the ghost of 
Washington, the fame of whose illustrious actions, and 
still more illustrious virtues, have reached even the re¬ 
motest regions of the East, and who is venerated by this 
people as the Father of his country. On reading this 
paltry paper, I could not restrain my indignation. “ In¬ 
sulted hero,” cried I, “ is it thus thy name is profaned, 
thy memory disgraced, thy spirit drawn down from 
heaven to administer to the brutal violence of party 
rage ? It is thus the necromancers of the East, by their 
infernal incantations, sometimes call up the shades of 
the just, to give their sanction to frauds, to lies, and to 
every species of enormity ? ” My friend smiled at my 
warmth, and observed, that raising ghosts, and not only 
raising them but making them speak, was one of the 
miracles of election. “And believe me,” continued he, 
“ there is good reason for the ashes of departed heroes 
being disturbed on these occasions, for such is the sandy 


268 


8ALMAGUNDI 


foundation of our government, that there never happens 
an election of an alderman, or a collector, or even a con¬ 
stable, but we are in imminent danger of losing our 
liberties, and becoming a province of France, or tributary 
to the British islands.” “By the hump of Mahomet’s 
camel,” said I, “ but this is only another striking example 
of the prodigious great scale on which everything is 
transacted in this country ! ” 

By this time I had become tired of the scene ; my head 
ached with the uproar of voices, mingling in all the dis¬ 
cordant tones of triumphant exclamation, nonsensical 
argument, intemperate reproach, and drunken absurdity. 
The confusion was such as no language can adequately 
describe, and it seemed as if all the restraints of decency, 
and all the bands of law, had been broken and given 
place to the wide ravages of licentious brutality. These, 
thought I, are the orgies of liberty! these are manifes¬ 
tations of the spirit of independence ! these are the sym¬ 
bols of man’s sovereignty! Head of Mahomet! with 
what a fatal and inexorable despotism do empty names 
and ideal phantoms exercise their dominion over the 
human mind! The experience of ages has demonstrated, 
that in all nations, barbarous or enlightened, the mass 
of the people, the mob, must be slaves, or they will be 
tyrants; but their tyranny will not be long: some am¬ 
bitious leader, having at first condescended to be their 
slave, will at length become their master; and in pro¬ 
portion to the vileness of his former servitude, will be 


PLEASANT REMEMBRANCES. 


269 


the severity of his subsequent tyranny. Yet, with in¬ 
numerable examples staring them in the face, the people 
still bawl out liberty; by which they mean nothing but 
freedom from every species of legal restraint, and a war¬ 
rant for all kinds of licentiousness : and the bashaws and 
leaders, in courting the mob, convince them of their 
power; and by administering to their passions, for the 
purposes of ambition, at length learn, by fatal expe¬ 
rience, that he who worships the beast that carries him 
on his back, will sooner or later be thrown into the dust, 
and trampled under foot by the animal who has learnt 
the secret of its power, by this very adoration. 


Mustapha. 


Ever thine. 


FROM MY ELBOW-CHAIR. 


MINE UNCLE JOHN. 


O those whose habits of abstraction may have let 



^ them into some of the secrets of their own minds, 
and whose freedom from daily toil has left them at 
leisure to analyze their feelings, it will be nothing new 
to say that the present is peculiarly the season of re¬ 
membrance. The flowers, the zephyrs, and the warblers 
of spring, returning after their tedious absence, bring 
naturally to our recollection past times and buried feel- 



270 


SALMAGUNDI. 


ings; and the whispers of the full-foliaged grove fall on 
the ear of contemplation, like the sweet tones of far dis¬ 
tant friends whom the rude jostlers of the world have 
severed from us and cast far beyond our reach. It is 
at such times, that, casting backward many a lingering 
look, we recall, with a kind of sweet-souled melancholy, 
the days of our youth, and the jocund companions who 
started with us the race of life, but parted midway in 
the journey to pursue some winding path that allured 
them with a prospect more seducing, and never returned 
to us again. It is then, too, if we have been afflicted 
with any heavy sorrow, if we have even lost—and who 
has not ?—an old friend or chosen companion, that his 
shade will hover around us; the memory of his virtues 
press on the heart; and a thousand endearing recollec¬ 
tions, forgotten amidst the cold pleasures and midnight 
dissipations of winter, arise to our remembrance. 

These speculations bring to my mind my uncle John, 
the history of whose loves and disappointments I have 
promised to the world. Though I must own myself 
much addicted to forgetting my promises, yet, as I have 
been so happily reminded of this, I believe I must pay it 
at once, “ and there is an end.” Lest my readers—good- 
natured souls that they are!—should, in the ardor of 
peeping into millstones, take my uncle for an old ac¬ 
quaintance, I here inform them, that the old gentleman 
died a great many years ago, and it is impossible they 
should ever have known him. I pity them—for they 


MINE UNCLE JOHN 


271 


would have known a good-natured, benevolent man, 
whose example might have been of service. 

The last time I saw my uncle John, was fifteen years 
ago, when I paid him a visit at his old mansion. I found 
him reading a newspaper—for it was election-time, and 
he was always a warm Federalist, and had made several 
converts to the true political faith in his time; particu¬ 
larly one old tenant who always, just before the election, 
became a violent anti-in order that he might be con¬ 

vinced of his errors by my uncle, who never failed to re¬ 
ward his conviction by some substantial benefit. 

After we had settled the affairs of the nation, and I 
had paid my respects to the old family chroniclers in the 
kitchen—an indispensable ceremony—the old gentleman 
exclaimed, with heartfelt glee, “Well, I suppose you are 
for a trout-fishing; I have got everything prepared; but 
first you must take a walk with me to see my improve¬ 
ments.” I was obliged to consent; though I knew my 
uncle would lead me a most villainous dance, and in all 
probability treat me to a quagmire, or a tumble into a 
ditch. If my readers choose to accompany me in this 
expedition, they are welcome; if not, let them stay at 
home like lazy fellows—and sleep—or be hanged. 

Though I had been absent several years, yet there was 
very little alteration in the scenery, and every object re¬ 
tained the same features it bore when I was a school¬ 
boy ; for it was in this spot that I grew up in the fear of 
ghosts, and in the breaking of many of the ten command- 


272 


8ALMA0UNDL 


ments. The brook, or river, as they would call it in Eu¬ 
rope, still murmured with its wonted sweetness through 
the meadow; and its banks were still tufted with dwarf 
willows, that bent down to the surface. The same echo 
inhabited the valley, and the same tender air of repose 
pervaded the whole scene. Even my good uncle was but 
little altered, except that his hair was grown a little 
grayer, and his forehead had lost some of its former 
smoothness. He had, however, lost nothing of his former 
activity, and laughed heartily at the difficulty I found in 
keeping up with him as he stumped through bushes, and 
briers, and hedges; talking all the time about his im¬ 
provements, and telling what he would do with such a 
spot of ground and such a tree. At length, after showing 
me his stone fences, his famous two-year-old bull, his new 
invented cart, which was to go before the horse, and his 
Eclipse colt, he was pleased to return home to dinner. 

After dinner and returning thanks—which with him 
was not a ceremony merely, but an offering from the 
heart—my uncle opened his trunk, took out his fishing- 
tackle, and, without saying a word, sallied forth with 
some of those truly alarming steps which Daddy Nep¬ 
tune once took when he was in a great hurry to attend 
the affair of the siege of Troy. Trout-fishing was my 
uncle’s favorite sport; and, though I always caught two 
fish for his one, he never would acknowledge my supe¬ 
riority ; but puzzled himself often and often, to account 
for such a singular phenomenon. 


MORALIZING, 


273 


Following the current of the brook, for a mile or two, 
we retraced many of our old haunts, and told a hundred 
adventures which had befallen us at different times. It 
was like snatching the hour-glass of time, inverting it, 
and rolling back again the sands that had marked the 
lapse of years. At length the shadows began to lengthen, 
the south wind gradually settled into a perfect calm, the 
sun threw his rays through the trees on the hill-tops in 
golden lustre, and a kind of Sabbath stillness pervaded 
the whole valley, indicating that the hour was fast ap¬ 
proaching which was to relieve for a while the farmer 
from his rural labor, the ox from his toil, the school 
urchin from his primer, and bring the loving ploughman 
home to the feet of his blooming dairy-maid. 

As we were watching in silence the last rays of the 
sun, beaming their farewell radiance on the high hills at 
a distance, my uncle exclaimed, in a kind of half despond¬ 
ing tone, while he rested his arm over an old tree that 
had fallen : “ I know not how it is, my dear Launce, but 
such an evening, and such a still, quiet scene as this> 
always makes me a little sad; and it is at such a time I 
am most apt to look forward with regret to the period 
when this farm, on which ‘ I have been young but now 
am old,’ and every object around me that is endeared by 
long acquaintance—when all these and I must shake 
hands and part. I have no fear of death, for my life has 
afforded but little temptation to wickedness; and when 
I die, I hope to leave behind me more substantial proofs 
18 


274 


SALMAGUNDI. 


of virtue than will be found in my epitaph, and more 
lasting memorials than churches built or hospitals en¬ 
dowed, with wealth wrung from the hard hand of pov¬ 
erty, by an unfeeling landlord or unprincipled knave; 
but still, when I pass such a day as this and contemplate 
such a scene, I cannot help feeling a latent wish to linger 
yet a little longer in this peaceful asylum; to enjoy a 
little more sunshine in this world, and to have a few 
more fishing matches with my boy.” As he ended, he 
raised his hand a little from the fallen tree, and, drop¬ 
ping it languidly by his side, turned himself toward 
home. The sentiment, the look, the action, all seemed 
to be prophetic. And so they were, for when I shook 
him by the hand, and bade him farewell the next morn¬ 
ing—it was for the last time ! 

He died a bachelor, at the age of sixty-three, though 
he had been all his life trying to get married, and always 
thought himself on the point of accomplishing his wishes. 
His disappointments were not owing either to the de¬ 
formity of his mind or person; for in his youth he was 
reckoned handsome, and I myself can witness for him 
that he had as kind a heart as ever was fashioned by 
heaven; neither were they owing to his poverty—which 
sometimes stands in an honest man’s way—for he was 
born to the inheritance of a small estate which was 
sufficient to establish his claim to the title of “ one well 
to do in the world.” The truth is, my uncle had a pro¬ 
digious antipathy to doing things in a hurry. “ A man 


A DISCOVERT. 


275 


should consider,” said he to me once, “that he can al¬ 
ways get a wife, but cannot always get rid of her. For 
my part,” continued he, “ I am a young fellow, with the 
world before me”—he was about forty—“and am re¬ 
solved to look sharp, weigh matters well, and know 
what’s what, before I marry: in short, Launce, I dorCt 
intend to do the thing in a hurry, depend upon it.” On this 
whimwham he proceeded. He began with young girls, 
and ended with widows. The girls he courted until they 
grew old maids, or married out of pure apprehension of 
incurring certain penalties hereafter ; and the widows, not 
having quite as much patience, generally, at the end of 
a year, while the good man thought himself in the high 
road to success, married some harum-scarum young fellow 
who had not such an antipathy to doing things in a hurry. 

My uncle would have inevitably sunk under these re¬ 
peated disappointments—for he did not want sensibility 
—had he not hit upon a discovery which set all to rights 
at once. He consoled his vanity—for he was a little 
vain, and soothed his pride—which was his master pas¬ 
sion—by telling his friends very significantly, while his 
eye would flash triumph, “ that he might have had her.” 
Those who know how much of the bitterness of disap¬ 
pointed affection arises from wounded vanity and exas¬ 
perated pride, will give my uncle credit for this dis¬ 
covery. 

My uncle had been told by a prodigious number of 
married men, and had read in an innumerable quantity 


276 


SALMAGUNDI. 


of books, that a man could not possibly be happy except 
in the marriage state; so he determined at an early age 
to marry, that he might not lose his only chance for hap¬ 
piness. He, accordingly, forthwith paid his addresses 
to the daughter of a neighboring gentleman farmer, who 
was reckoned the beauty of the whole world; a phrase 
by which the honest countiy people mean nothing more 
than the circle of their acquaintance, or that territory of 
land which is within sight of the smoke of their own 
hamlet. 

This young lady, in addition to her beauty, was highly 
accomplished, for she had spent five or six months at a 
boarding-school in town, where she learned to work pic¬ 
tures in satin and paint sheep, that might be mistaken 
for wolves; to hold up her head, sit straight in her 
chair, and to think every species of useful acquirement 
beneath her attention. When she returned home, so 
completely had she forgotten everything she knew be¬ 
fore, that on seeing one of the maids milking a cow, she 
asked her father, with an air of most enchanting igno¬ 
rance, “what that odd-looking thing was doing to that 
queer animal ? ” The old man shook his head at this; 
but the mother was delighted at these symptoms of gen¬ 
tility, and so enamored of her daughter’s accomplish¬ 
ments that she actually got framed a picture worked in 
satin by the young lady. It represented the tomb scene 
in Romeo and Juliet. Romeo was dressed in an orange- 
colored cloak, fastened round his neck with a large 


AN ACCOMPLISHED LADY, 


277 


golden clasp; a white satin tamboured waistcoat, leather 
breeches, blue silk stockings, and white-topped boots. 
The amiable Juliet shone in a flame-colored gown, most 
gorgeously bespangled with silver stars, a high-crowned 
muslin cap that reached to the top of the tomb; on 
her feet she wore a pair of short-quartered high-heeled 
shoes, and her waist was the exact fac-simile of an in¬ 
verted sugarloaf. The head of the ‘‘ noble county Paris’* 
looked like a chimney sweeper’s brush that had lost its 
handle, and the cloak of the good Friar hung about him 
as gracefully as the armor of a rhinoceros. The good 
lady considered this picture as a splendid proof of her 
daughter’s accomplishments, and hung it up in the best 
parlor, as an honest tradesman does his certificate of 
admission into that enlightened body yclept the Me¬ 
chanic Society. 

With this accomplished young lady then did my uncle 
John become deeply enamored, and, as it was his first 
love, he determined to bestir himself in an extraordinary 
manner. Once at least in a fortnight, and generally on a 
Sunday evening, he would put on his leather breeches, 
for he was a great beau, mount his gray horse Pepper, 
and ride over to see his Miss Pamela, though she lived 
upward of a mile off, and he was obliged to pass close by 
a churchyard, which at least a hundred creditable per¬ 
sons would swear was haunted! Miss Pamela could not 
be insensible to such proofs of attachment, and ac¬ 
cordingly received him with considerable kindness; her 


278 


8ALMA0UNDL 


motlier always left the room when he came, and my 
nncle had as good as made a declaration, by saying, one 
evening, very significantly, “that he believed that he 
should soon change his condition; ” when, somehow or 
other, he began to think he was doing things in too great 
a hurry, and that it was high time to consider; so he 
considered near a month about it, and there is no saying 
how much longer he might have spun the thread of his 
doubts had he not been roused from this state of inde¬ 
cision, by the news that his mistress had married an 
attorney’s apprentice, whom she had seen the Sunday 
before at church; where he had excited the applauses 
of the whole congregation by the invincible gravity with 
which he listened to a Dutch sermon. The young people 
in the neighborhood laughed a good deal at my uncle on 
the occasion, but he only shrugged his shoulders, looked 
mysterious, and replied, “ Tut, hoys! I might have had 
her:^ 

NOTE BY WILLIAM WIZARD, ESQ. 

Our publisher, who is busily engaged in printing a celebrated work, 
which is perhaps more genwally read in this city than any other book, 
not excepting the Bible—I mean the New York Directory—has begged so 
hard that we will not overwhelm him with too much of a good thing, that 
we have, with Langstaff’s approbation, cut short the residue of uncle 
John’s amours. In all probability it will be given in a future number, 
whenever Launcelot is in the humor for it—he is such an odd—^but mum, 
for fear of another suspension. 


NO. Xn.— SATUKDAY, JUNE 27, 1807 . 


FROM MY ELBOW-CHAIR. 



OME men delight in the study of plants, in the 
dissection of a leaf, or in the contour and com¬ 
plexion of a tulip; others are charmed with the 
beauties of the feathered race, or the varied hues of the 
insect tribe. A naturalist will spend hours in the fatigu¬ 
ing pursuit of a butterfly, and a man of the ton will waste 
whole years in the chase of a flne lady. I feel a respect 
for their avocations, for my own are somewhat similar. 
I love to open the great volume of human character; to 
me the examination of a beau is more interesting than 
that of a dafibdil or narcissus, and I feel a thousand times 
more pleasure in catching a new view of human nature, 
than in kidnapping the most gorgeous butterfly—even an 
Emperor of Morocco himself! 

In my present situation I have ample room for the 
indulgence of this taste; for, perhaps, there is not a 
house in this city more fertile in subjects for the anat¬ 
omist of human character, than my Cousin Cockloft’s. 
Honest Christopher, as I have before mentioned, is one 
of those hearty old cavaliers who pride themselves upon 

279 






280 


8ALMA0UNDL 


keeping up the good, honest, unceremonious hospitality 
of old times. He is never so happy as when he has 
drawn about him a knot of sterling-hearted associates, 
and sits at the head of his table dispensing a warm, 
cheering welcome to all. His countenance expands at 
every glass and beams forth emanations of hilarity, be¬ 
nevolence, and good-fellowship, that inspire and gladden 
every guest around him. It is no wonder, therefore, that 
such excellent social qualities should attract a host of 
Mends and guests; in fact, my cousin is almost over¬ 
whelmed with them, and they all, uniformly, pronounce 
old Cockloft to be one of the finest old fellows in the 
world. His wine also always comes in for a good share 
of their approbation; nor do they forget to do honor to 
Mrs. Cockloft’s cookery, pronouncing it to be modeled 
after the most approved recipes of Heliogabalus and 
Mrs. Glasse. The variety of company thus attracted is 
particularly pleasing to me; for, being considered a priv¬ 
ileged person in the family, I can sit in a corner, indulge 
in my favorite amusement of observation, and retreat to 
my elbow-chair like a bee to his hive, whenever I have 
collected sufficient food for meditation. 

Will Wizard is particularly efficient in adding to the 
stock of originals which frequent our house; for he is 
one of the most inveterate hunters of oddities I ever 
knew; and his first care, on making a new acquaintance, 
is to gallant him to old Cockloft’s, where he never fails 
to receive the freedom of the house in a pinch from his 


TOM STRADDLE. 


281 


gold box. Will has, without exception, the queerest, 
most eccentric, and indescribable set of intimates that 
ever man possessed; how he became acquainted with 
them I cannot conceive, except bj supposing there is a 
secret attraction or unintelligible sympathy that uncon¬ 
sciously draws together oddities of every soil. 

Will’s great crony for some time was Tom Straddle, 
to whom he took a great liking. Straddle had just ar¬ 
rived in an importation of hardware, fresh from the city 
of Birmingham, or rather, as the most learned English 
would call it, Brummagem, so famous for its manufac¬ 
tories of gimlets, penknives, and pepper - boxes; and 
where they make buttons and beaux enough to inundate 
our whole country. He was a young man of consider¬ 
able standing in the manufactory at Birmingham, some¬ 
times had the honor to hand his master’s daughter into a 
tim-whisky, was the oracle of the tavern he frequented 
on Sundays, and could beat all his associates, if you would 
take his word for it, in boxing, beer-drinking, jumping 
over chairs, and imitating cats in a gutter and opera 
singers. Straddle was, moreover, a member of a Catch 
Club, and was a great hand at ringing bob-majors; he 
was, of course, a complete connoisseur of music, and en¬ 
titled to assume that character at all performances in the 
art. He was likewise a member of a Spouting Club, had 
seen a company of strolling actors perform in a bam, and 
had even, like Abel Drugger, “ enacted ” the part of Ma¬ 
jor Sturgeon with considerable applause; he was conse- 


282 


SALMAOUNBL 


quently a profound critic, and fully authorized to turn up 
his nose at any American performances. He had twice 
partaken of annual dinners, given to the head manufac¬ 
turers of Birmingham, where he had the good fortune to 
get a taste of turtle and turbot, and a smack of cham¬ 
pagne and Burgundy; and he had heard a vast deal of 
the roast-beef of Old England ; he was therefore epicure 
sufficient to d—n every dish, and every glass of wine he 
tasted in America, though, at the same time, he was as 
voracious an animal as ever crossed the Atlantic. Strad¬ 
dle had been splashed half-a-dozen times by the car¬ 
riages of nobility, and had once the superlative felicity 
of being kicked out of doors by the footman of a noble 
duke ; he could, therefore, talk of nobility and despise the 
untitled plebeians of America. In short. Straddle was 
one of those dapper, bustling, florid, round, self-impor¬ 
tant “ gemmen ” who bounce upon us, half beau, half but¬ 
ton-maker ; undertake to give us the true polish of the 
hon ton, and endeavor to inspire us with a proper and 
dignified contempt of our native country. 

Straddle was quite in raptures when his employers de¬ 
termined to send him to America as an agent. He con¬ 
sidered himself as going among a nation of barbarians, 
where he would be received as a prodigy; he antici¬ 
pated, with a proud satisfaction, the bustle and confusion 
his arrival would occasion; the crowd that would throng 
to gaze at him as he passed through the streets; and had 
little doubt but that he should occasion as much curi- 


TOM STRADDLE. 


283 


osity as an Indian chief or a Turk in the streets of Bir¬ 
mingham. He had heard of the beauty of our women, 
and chuckled at the thought of how completely he 
should eclipse their unpolished beaux, and the number 
of despairing lovers that would mourn the hour of his 
arrival. I am even informed by Will Wizard that he put 
good store of beads, spike-nails, and looking-glasses in 
his trunk to win the affections of the fair ones as they 
paddled about in their bark canoes. The reason Will 
gave for this error of Straddle’s, respecting our ladies, 
was, that he had read in Guthrie’s Geography that the 
aborigines of America were all savages; and not exactly 
understanding the word “ aborigines,” he applied to one 
of his fellow-apprentices, who assured him that it was 
the Latin word for inhabitants. 

Wizard used to tell another anecdote of Straddle, 
which always put him in a passion: Will swore that the 
captain of the ship told him, that when Straddle heard 
they were off the banks of Newfoundland, he insisted 
upon going on shore there to gather some good cab¬ 
bages, of which he was excessively fond. Straddle, how¬ 
ever, denied all this, and declared it to be a mischievous 
quiz of Will Wizard; who indeed often made himself 
merry at his expense. However this may be, certain it 
is, he kept his tailor and shoemaker constantly employed 
for a month before his departure; equipped himself with a 
smart crooked stick about eighteen inches long, a pair of 
breeches of most unheard-of length, a little short pair of 


284 


8ALMAGUNDL 


Hoby’s white-topped boots, that seemed to stand on tip¬ 
toe to reach his breeches, and his hat had the true trans¬ 
atlantic declination toward his right ear. The fact was— 
nor did he make any secret of it—he was determined to 
^^astonisli the natives a few ! ” 

Straddle was not a little disappointed on his arrival, 
to find the Americans were rather more civilized than he 
had imagined; he was suffered to walk to his lodgings 
unmolested by a crowd, and even unnoticed by a single 
individual; no love-letters came pouring in upon him; no 
rivals lay in wait to assassinate him; his very dress ex¬ 
cited no attention, for there were many fools dressed 
equally ridiculously with himself. This was mortifying 
indeed to an aspiring youth, who had come out with the 
idea of astonishing and captivating. He was equally 
unfortunate in his pretensions to the character of critic, 
connoisseur, and boxer; he condemned our whole dra¬ 
matic corps, and everything appertaining to the theatre; 
but his critical abilities were ridiculed; he found fault 
with old Cockloft’s dinner, not even sparing his wine, and 
was never invited to the house afterward; he scoured the 
streets at night, and was cudgeled by a sturdy watchman; 
he hoaxed an honest mechanic, and was soundly kicked. 
Thus disappointed in all his attempts at notoriety. Strad¬ 
dle hit on the expedient which was resorted to by the 
Giblets —he determined to take the town by storm. He 
accordingly bought horses and equipages, and forthwith 
made a furious dash at style in a gig and tandem. 


BRUMMAGEM SUFFERING. 


286 


As Straddle’s finances were but limited, it may easily 
be supposed that his fashionable career infringed a little 
upon his consignment, which was indeed the case, for, 
to use a true cockney phrase, Brummagem suffered. But 
this was a circumstance that made little impression upon 
Straddle who was now a lad of spirit, and lads of spirit 
always despise the sordid cares of keeping another man’s 
money. Suspecting this circumstance, I never could wit¬ 
ness any of his exhibitions of style, without some whim¬ 
sical association of ideas. Did he give an entertainment 
to a host of guzzling friends, I immediately fancied them 
gormandizing heartily at the expense of poor Birming¬ 
ham, and swallowing a consignment of hand-saws and 
razors. Did I behold him dashing through Broadway in 
his gig, I saw him, “ in my mind’s eye,” driving tandem 
on a nest of tea-boards ; nor could I ever contemplate his 
cockney exhibitions of horsemanship, but my mischiev¬ 
ous imagination would picture him spurring a cask of 
hardware, like rosy Bacchus bestriding a beer barrel, or 
the little gentleman who bestraddles the world in the 
front of Hutching’s almanac. 

Straddle was equally successful with the Giblets, as 
may well be supposed; for though pedestrian merit may 
strive in vain to become fashionable in Gotham, yet a 
candidate in an equipage is always recognized, and like 
Philip’s ass, laden with gold, will gain admittance every¬ 
where. Mounted in his curricle or his gig, the candidate 
is like a statue elevated on a high pedestal, his merits 


286 


8ALMA0UNDL 


are discernible from afar, and strike the dullest optica. 
O, Gotham, Gotham! most enlightened of cities!—how 
does my heart swell with delight when I behold your 
sapient inhabitants lavishing their attention with such 
wonderful discernment! 

Thus Straddle became quite a man of ton, and was 
caressed, and courted, and invited to dinners and balls. 
Whatever was absurd or ridiculous in him before, was 
now declared to be the style. He criticised our theatre, 
and was listened to with reverence. He pronounced our 
musical entertainments barbarous; and the judgment of 
Apollo himself would not have been more decisive. He 
abused our dinners: and the god of eating, if there be 
any such deity, seemed to speak through his organs. 
He became at once a man of taste, for he put his male¬ 
diction on everything; and his arguments were conclu¬ 
sive, for he supported every assertion with a bet. He 
was likewise pronounced, by the learned in the fashiona¬ 
ble world, a young man of great research and deep obser¬ 
vation ; for he had sent home, as natural curiosities, an ear 
of Indian corn, a pair of moccasins, a belt of wampum, and 
a four-leaved clover. He had taken great pains to enrich 
this curious collection with an Indian and a cataract, but 
without success. In fine, the people talked of Straddle 
and his equipage, and Straddle talked of his horses, until it 
was impossible for the most critical observer to pronounce, 
whether Straddle or his horses were most admired, or 
whether Straddle admired himself or his horses most. 


STRADDLE'S SUCCESS. 


287 


Straddle was now in the zenith of his glory. He swag¬ 
gered about parlors and drawing-rooms with the same 
unceremonious confidence he used to display in the 
taverns at Birmingham. He accosted a lady as he would 
a bar-maid; and this was pronounced a certain proof 
that he had been used to better company in Birming¬ 
ham. He became the great man of all the taverns be¬ 
tween New York and Harlem, and no one stood a chance 
of being accommodated, until Straddle and his horses 

were perfectly satisfied. He d-d the landlords and 

waiters with the best air in the word, and accosted them 
with the true gentlemanly familiarity. He staggered 
from the dinner-table to the play, entered the box like a 
tempest, and stayed long enough to be bored to death, and 
to bore all those who had the misfortune to be near him. 
From thence he dashed off to a ball in time enough to 
flounder through a cotillon, tear half a dozen gowns, 
commit a number of other depredations, and make the 
whole company sensible of his infinite condescension in 
coming amongst them. The people of Gotham thought 
him a prodigious fine fellow; the young bucks cultivated 
his acquaintance with the most persevering assiduity; 
and his retainers were sometimes complimented with a 
seat in his curricle, or a ride on one of his fine horses. 
The belles were delighted with the attentions of such a 
fashionable gentleman, and stnick with astonishment at 
his learned distinctions between wrought scissors and 
those of cast-steel; together with his profound disserta- 



288 


SALMAGUNDI 


tions on buttons and horse flesh. The rich merchants 
courted his acquaintance because he was an Englishman, 
and their wives treated him with great deference because 
he had come from beyond seas. I cannot help here 
observing that your salt water is a marvelous great 
sharpener of men’s wits, and I intend to recommend it to 
some of my acquaintance in a particular essay. 

Straddle continued his brilliant career for only a short 
time. His prosperous journey over the turnpike of 
fashion was checked by some of those stumbling-blocks 
in the way of aspiring youth, called creditors, or duns— 
a race of people who, as a celebrated writer observes, 
“are hated by gods and men.” Consignments slackened, 
whispers of distant suspicion floated in the dark, and 
those pests of society, the tailors and shoemakers, rose 
in rebellion against Straddle. In vain were all his re¬ 
monstrances, in vain did he prove to them that though 
he had given them no money, yet he had given them 
more custom, and as many promises as any young man 
in the city. They were inflexible, and the signal of 
danger being given, a host of other prosecutors pounced 
upon his back. Straddle saw there was but one way for 
it; he determined to do the thing genteelly, to go to 
smash like a hero, and dashed into the limits in high 
style, being the fifteenth gentleman I have known to 
drive tandem to the —ne plus ultra —the d 1. 

Unfortunate Straddle 1 May thy fate be a warning to 
all young gentlemen who come out from Birmingham to 


REFLECTIONS. 


289 


astonisli the natives! I should never have taken the 
trouble to delineate his character had he not been a 
genuine cockney, and worthy to be the representative of 
his numerous tribe. Perhaps my simple countrymen 
may hereafter be able to distinguish between the real 
English gentleman, and individuals of the cast I have 
heretofore spoken of, as mere mongrels, springing at one 
bound from contemptible obscurity at home to daylight 
and splendor in this good-natured land. The true-born 
and true-bred English gentleman is a character I hold 
in great respect; and I love to look back to the period 
when our forefathers flourished in the same generous 
soil, and hailed each other as brothers. But the cock-, 
ney!—when I contemplate him as springing, too, from 
the same source, I feel ashamed of the relationship, and 
am tempted to deny my origin. In the character of 
Straddle is traced the complete outline of a true cock¬ 
ney, of English growth, and a descendant of that in¬ 
dividual facetious character mentioned by Shakespeare, 
in pure kindness to his horse, buttered his hay.''* 

* An amusing verification of the fidelity of the character of Tom Strad¬ 
dle, to the type of the Brummagem tourist, is afforded in an anecdote re¬ 
lated in a Memoir of lining, prefixed to the Paris edition of his works. 
“Some years ago,” it reads, “a man who was prosecuted in Jamaica, for 
a libelous publication, produced a volume of Salmagundi on his trial. 
This publication it appeared had been copied literally, word for word, 
from the character of Tom Straddle, printed, sold, sent abroad, mischiev¬ 
ously enough, to be sure, while one of those English traveDers, whom 
Irving had so delightfully hit off, was in Jamaica, exploring and astonish¬ 
ing the natives.” 

19 


290 


SALMAGUNDI. 


THE STRANGER AT HOME ; OR, A TOUR IN BROADWAY. 


BY JEREMY COCKLOFT, THE YOUNGER. 


PREFACE. 


OUR learned traveller begins his travels at the 



commencement of his journey; others begin theirs 
at the end; and a third class begin anyhow and any¬ 
where, which I think is the true way. A late facetious 
writer begins what he calls a “Picture of New York,” 
with a particular description of Glen’s Palls, from 
whence, with admirable dexterity, he makes a digression 
to the celebrated Mill Rock on Long Island ! Now, this 
is what I like; and I intend, in my present tour, to 
digress as often and as long as I please. If, therefore, I 
choose to make a hop, skip, and jump to China, or New 
Holland, or Terra Incognita, or Communipaw, I can 
produce a host of examples to justify me, even in books 
that have been praised by the English reviewers, whose 
fiat being all that is necessary to give books a currency 
in this country, I am determined, as soon as I finish my 
edition of travels in seventy-five volumes, to transmit it 
forthwith to them for judgment. If these Transatlantic 
censors praise it, I have no fear of its success in this 
country, where their approbation gives, like the Tower 
stamp, a fictitious value, and makes tinsel and wampum 
pass current for classic gold. 


FIRST PEOPLING OF AMERICA, 


291 


CHAPTER I. 

Battery —flag-staflp kept by Louis Keaffee—Keaffee 
maintains two spy-glasses by subscriptions—merchants 
pay two shillings a year to look through them at the 
signal poles on Staten Island—a very pleasant prospect; 
but not so pleasant as that from the hill of Howth— 
query, ever been there ? Young seniors go down to the 
flag-staff to buy pea-nuts and beer, after the fatigue of 
their morning studies, and sometimes to play at ball, 
or some other innocent amusement—digression to the 
Olympic and Isthmian games, with a description of the 
Isthmus of Corinth, and that of Darien: to conclude 
with a dissertation on the Indian custom of offering a 
whiff of tobacco smoke to their great spirit Areskou,— 
Keturn to the Battery—delightful place to indulge in the 
luxury of sentiment. How various are the mutations of 
this world! but a few days, a few hours,—at least not 
above two hundred years ago, and this spot was inhab¬ 
ited by a race of aborigines, who dwelt in bark huts, 
lived upon oysters and Indian corn, danced buffalo 
dances, and were lords “ of the fowl and the brute ; ” but 
the spirit of time, and the spirit of brandy have swept 
them from their ancient inheritance; and as the white 
wave of the ocean, by its ever-toiling assiduity, gains on 
the brown land, so the white man, by slow and sure 
degrees, has gained on the brown savage, and dispos¬ 
sessed him of the land of his forefathers.—Conjectures 


292 


SALMAGUNDI. 


on the first peopling of America—different opinions on 
that subject, to the amount of near one hundred—opin¬ 
ion of Augustine Torniel—that they are the descendants 
of Shem and Japheth, who came by the way of Japan to 
America.—Juffridius Petre says they came from Priez- 
land.—mem. cold journey—Mons. Charron says they are 
descended from the Gauls—bitter enough—A. Milius 
from the Celtse—Kircher from the Egyptians—L Compte 
from the Phoenicians—^Lescarbort from the Canaanites, 
alias the Anthropophagi—Brerewood from Tartars— 
Grotius from the Norwegians—and Linkum Pidelius has 
written two folio volumes to prove that America was 
first of all peopled either by the antipodeans or the 
Cornish miners, who, he maintains, might easily have 
made a subterranean passage to this country, particu¬ 
larly the antipodeans, who, he asserts, can get along 
under ground as fast as moles—query, which of these 
is in the right, or are they all wrong? For my part, 
I don’t see why America had not as good a right to be 
peopled at first, as any little contemptible country in 
Europe, or Asia; and I am determined to write a book 
at my first leisure, to prove that Noah was born here— 
and that so far is America from being indebted to any 
other country for inhabitants, that they were every one 
of them peopled by colonies from her!—mem. Battery 
a very pleasant place to walk on a Sunday evening—not 
quite genteel though—every body walks there, and a 
pleasure, however genuine, is spoiled by general partici- 


THE CUSTOM-HOUSE, 


293 


pation—the fashionable ladies of New York turn up 
their noses if you ask them to walk on the Battery on 
Sunday—query, have they scruples of conscience, or 
scruples of delicacy ? Neither—they have only scruples 
of gentility, which are quite different things. 

CHAPTER n. 

Custom-house* —origin of duties or merchandise—this 
place much frequented by merchants—and why ?—differ¬ 
ent classes of merchants—importers—a kind of nobility 
—wholesale merchants—have the privilege of going to 
the city assembly!—Be tail traders cannot go to the as¬ 
sembly.—Some curious speculations on the vast distinc¬ 
tion betwixt selling tape by the piece or by the yard.— 
Wholesale merchants look down upon the retailers, who 
in return look down upon the green-grocers, who look 
down upon the market-women, who don’t care a straw 
about any of them.—Origin of the distinctions of rank— 
Dr. Johnson once horribly puzzled to settle the point of 
precedence between a louse and a flea—good hint enough 
to humble purse-proud arrogance.—Custom-house partly 
used as a lodging-house for the pictures belonging to 
the Academy of Arts—couldn’t afford the statues house- 
loom, most of them in the cellar of the City Hall—poor 
place for the gods and goddesses—after Olympus.—Pen- 

* The old Goverament-house facing Bowling-Green, built for the Presi¬ 
dent of the United States, afterwards the residence of George Clinton and 
John Jay. 


294 


SALMAGUNDI. 


sive reflections on the ups and downs of life—Apollo, 
and the rest of the set, used to cut a great figure in days 
of yore.—Mem. every dog has his day—sorry for Yenus 
though, poor wench, to be cooped up in a cellar with not 
a single grace to wait on her!—Eulogy on the gentlemen 
of the Academy of Arts, for the great spirit with which 
they began the undertaking, and the perseverance with 
which they have pursued it—it is a pity, however, they 
began at the wrong end—maxim—If you want a bird and 
a cage, always buy the cage first—hem !—a word to the 
wise! 


CHAPTEB m. 

Bowling Geeen —fine place for pasturing cows— a 
perquisite of the late corporation—formerly ornamented 
with a statue of George the Third—people pulled it 
down in the war to make bullets—great pity; it might 
have been given to the Academy—it would have become 
a cellar as well as any other.—Broadway—great differ¬ 
ence in the gentility of streets—a man who resides in 
Pearl street, or Chatham Bow, derives no kind of dignity 
from his domicil; but place him in a certain part of 
Broadway, anywhere between the Battery and Wall 
street, and he straightway becomes entitled to figure in 
the beau monde, and strut as a person of prodigious con¬ 
sequence !—Query, whether there is a degree of purity in 
the air of that quarter which changes the gross parti¬ 
cles of vulgarity into gems of refinement and polish ? A 


A FAM0J7S COURT CRIER. 


295 


question to be asked, but not to be answered.—New brick 
church !—What a pity it is the corporation of Trinity 
church are so poor!—if they could not afford to build a 
better place of worship, why did they not go about with 
a subscription?—even I would have given them a few 
shillings rather than our city should have been disgraced 
by such a pitiful specimen of economy—Wall street— 
City Hall, famous place for catch-poles, deputy sheriffs, 
and young lawyers; which last attend the courts, not 
because they have business there, but because they have 
no business anywhere else. My blood always curdles 
when I see a catch-pole, they being a species of vermin 
who feed and fatten on the common wretchedness of 
mankind, who trade in misery, and in becoming the ex¬ 
ecutioners of the law, by their oppression and villainy, 
almost counterbalance all the benefits which are derived 
from its salutary regulations—Story of Quevedo about a 
catch-pole possessed by a devil, who, on being interro¬ 
gated, declared that he did not come there voluntarily, 
but by compulsion; and that a decent devil would never, 
of his own free will, enter into the body of a catch-pole; 
instead, therefore, of doing him the injustice to say that 
here was a catch-pole bedeviled, they should say, it was 
a devil be-catch-poled; that being in reality the truth— 
Wonder what has become of the old crier of the court, 
who used to make more noise in preserving silenc^> than 
the audience did in breaking it—if a man happened to 
drop his cane, the old hero would sing out “ silence! ” in 


296 


8ALMA0UNDI 


a voice that emulated the ‘‘ wide-mouthed thunder ”—On 
inquiring, found he had retired from business to enjoy 
otium cum dignitate, as many a great man has done before. 
Strange that wise men, as they are thought, should toil 
through a whole existence merely to enjoy a few moments 
of leisure at last! why don’t they begin to be easy at 
first, and not purchase a moment’s pleasure with an age 
of pain ?—mem. posed some of the jockeys—eh 1 


CHAPTER IV. 

Barber’s pole; three different orders of shavers in 
New York—those who shave pigs; N. B.—freshmen and 
sophomores,—those who cut beards, and those who shave 
notes of hand ; the last are the most respectable, because, 
in the course of a year, they make more money, and that 
honestly, than the whole corps of other shavers can do in 
half a century; besides, it would puzzle a common barber 
to ruin any man, except by cutting his throat; whereas 
your higher order of shavers, your true blood-suckers 
of the community, seated snugly behind the curtain, in 
watch for prey, live on the vitals of the unfortunate, and 
grow rich on the ruin of thousands. Yet this last class 
of harhers are held in high respect in the world; they 
never offend against the decencies of life, go often to 
church, look down on honest poverty walking on foot, 
and call themselves gentlemen; yea, men of honor!— 
Lottery offices—another set oi capital shavers!—bcensed 


SCHOLARSHIP, 


297 


gambling houses I good things enough, as they enable a 
few honest industrious gentlemen to humbug the people— 
according to law; besides, if the people will be such 
fools, whose fault is it but their own if they get hit ? — 
Messrs. Paflf—beg pardon for putting them in such bad 
company, because they are a couple of fine fellows—mem. 
to recommend Michael’s antique snuff-box to all ama¬ 
teurs in the art. —Eagle singing Yankee-doodle—N. B.— 
Buffon, Pennant and the rest of the naturalists, all nat¬ 
urals not to know the eagle was a singing bird; Linkum 
Eidelius knew better, and gives a long description of a 
bald eagle that serenaded him once in Canada;—digres¬ 
sion ; particular account of the Canadian Indians;—story 
about Areskou learning to make fishing nets of a spider 
—don’t believe it, though, because, according to Linkum, 
and many other learned authorities, Areskou is the same 
as Mars, being derived from his Greek name of Ares ; and 
if so, he knew well enough what a net was without con¬ 
sulting a spider;—story of Arachne being changed into 
a spider as a reward for having hanged herself;—deriva¬ 
tion of the word spinster from spider;—Colophon, now 
Altobosco, the birthplace of Arachne, remarkable for a 
famous breed of spiders to this day;—mem. nothing like 
a little scholarship—make the ignoramus^ viz. the ma¬ 
jority of my readers, stare like wild pigeons;—return to 
New York a short cut—meet a dashing belle, in a little 
thick white veil—tried to get a peep at her face—saw she 
squinted a little—thought so at first;—never saw a face 


298 


8ALMA0UNDL 


covered with a veil that was worth looking at;—saw 
some ladies holding a conversation across the street 
about going to church next Sunday — talked so loud 
they frightened a cartman’s horse, who ran away, and 
overset a basket of gingerbread with a little boy under 
it;—mem. I don’t much see the use of speaking-trumpets 
now-a-days. 

CHAPTER v. 

Bought a pair of gloves; dry-goods stores the genuine 
schools of politeness—true Parisian manners there—got 
a pair of gloves and a pistareen’s worth of bows for a 
dollar—dog cheap !—Courtlandt street corner—famous 
place to see the belles go by—query, ever been shopping 
with a lady ?—some account of it—ladies go into all the 
shops in the city to buy a pair of gloves—good way of 
spending time, if they have nothing else to do.—Oswego 
market—looks very much like a triumphal arch—some 
account of the manner of erecting them in ancient times; 
digression to the arcA-duke Charles, and some account 
of the ancient Germans. N. B.—Quote Tacitus on this 
subject.—Particular description of market-baskets, butch¬ 
er’s blocks, and wheelbarrows;—mem. queer things run 
upon one wheel!—Saw a cartman driving full tilt through 
Broadway—run over a child—good enough for it—what 
business had it to be in the way ?—Hint concerning the 
laws against pigs, goats, dogs, and cartmen,—grand 
apostrophe to the sublime science of jurisprudence;—• 


0DD8 AND ENDS. 


29a 


comparison between legislators and tinkers; query, 
whether it requires greater ability to mend a law than ta 
mend a kettle ?—inquiry into the utility of making laws 
that are broken a hundred times a day with impunity;— 
my Lord Coke’s opinion on the subject; my Lord a 
very great man—so was Lord Bacon : a good story about 
a criminal named Hog claiming relationship with him.— 
Hogg’s porter-house;—a great haunt of Will Wizard; 
Will put down there one night by a sea-captain, in an 
argument concerning the era of the Chinese empire 
Whangpo;—Hogg’s a capital place for hearing the same 
stories, the same jokes, and the same songs every night 
in the year—mem. except Sunday nights ; fine school for 
young politicians too—some of the longest and thickest 
heads in the city come there to settle the nation.— 
Scheme of Ichahod Furigus to restore the balance of 
Europe ;—digression;—some account of the balance of 
Europe; comparison between it and a pair of scales, 
with the Emperor Alexander in one and the Emperor 
Napoleon in the other: fine fellows—both of a weight, 
can’t tell which will kick the beam:—mem. don’t care 
much either—nothing to me :— Ichahod very unhappy 
about it—thinks Napoleon has an eye on this country— 
capital place to pasture his horses, and provide for the 
rest of his family.—Dey street—ancient Dutch name of 
it, signifying murderers’ valley, formerly the site of a 
great peach orchard; my grandmother’s history of the 
famous Peach ivar —arose from an Indian stealing 


300 


SALMAGUNDI. 


peaches out of this orchard; good cause as need be for 
a war; just as good as the balance of power. Anecdote 
of war between two Italian states about a bucket; intro¬ 
duce some capital new truisms about the folly of man¬ 
kind, the ambition of kings, potentates, and princes; 
particularly Alexander, Caesar, Charles the Xllth, Napo¬ 
leon, little King Pepin, and the great Charlemagne.— 
Conclude with an exhortation to the present race of 
sovereigns to keep the king’s peace, and abstain from all 
those deadly quarrels which produce battle, murder, and 
sudden death—mem.—ran my nose against a lamp-post 
—conclude in great dudgeon. 


FROM MY ELBOW-CHAIR. 


UR cousin Pindar, after having been confined for 



some time past with a fit of the gout, which is a 
kind of keepsake in our family, has again set his mill 
going, as my readers will perceive. On reading his piece 
I could not help smiling at the high compliments which, 
contrary to his usual style, he has lavished on the dear 
sex. The old gentleman, unfortunately observing my 
merriment, stumped out of the room with great vocifera¬ 
tion of crutch, and has not exchanged three words with 
me since. I expect every hour to hear that he has 
packed up his movables, and, as usual in all cases of 
disgust, retreated to his old country-house. 



COCKLOFT*S MILL. 


301 


Pindar^ like most of the old Cockloft heroes, is won¬ 
derfully susceptible to the genial influence of warm 
weather. In winter he is one of the most crusty old 
bachelors under heaven, and is wickedly addicted to 
sarcastic reflections of every kind, particularly on the 
little enchanting foibles and whim whams of women. But 
when the spring comes on, and the mild influence of the 
sun releases nature from her icy fetters, the ice of his 
bosom dissolves into a gentle current which reflects the 
bewitching qualities of the fair; as in some mild, clear 
evening, when nature reposes in silence, the stream bears 
in its pure bosom all the starry magnificence of heaven. 
It is under the control of this influence he has written 
his piece ; and I beg the ladies, in the plenitude of their 
harmless conceit, not to flatter themselves that because 
the good Pindar has suffered them to escape his censures 
he had nothing more to censure. It is but sunshine and 
zephyrs which have wrought this wonderful change; and 
I am much mistaken if the first northeaster don’t convert 
all his good nature into most exquisite spleen. 


FROM THE MILL OF PINDAR COCKLOFT, ESQ. 


T rOW often I cast my reflections behind, 

-■—And call up the days of past youth to my mind. 
When folly assails in habiliments new, 

When fashion obtrudes some fresh whimwham to view; 



302 


SALMAGUNDI. 


When the foplings of fashion bedazzle my sight. 

Bewilder my feelings—my senses benight; 

I retreat in disgust from the world of to-day. 

To commune with the world that has mouldered away; 

To converse with the shades of those friends of my love. 
Long gather’d in peace to the angels above. 

In my rambles through life should I meet with annoy. 
From the bold, beardless stripling—the turbid, pert boy— 
One reared in the mode lately reckon’d genteel. 

Which, neglecting the head, aims to perfect the heel; 
Which completes the sweet fopling while yet in his teens. 
And fits him for fashion’s light changeable scenes ; 
Proclaims him a man to the near and the far. 

Can he dance a cotillon or smoke a cigar; 

And though brainless and vapid as vapid can be. 

To routs and to parties pronounces him free :— 

0, I think on the beaux that existed of yore. 

On those rules of the ton that exist now no more I 
I recall with delight how each yonker at first 
In the cradle of science and virtue was nursed : 

—How the graces of person and graces of mind, 

The polish of learning and fashion combined. 

Till softened in manners and strengthened in head. 

By the classical lore of the living and dead, 

Matured in his person till manly in size. 

He then was presented a beau to our eyes ! 

My nieces of late have made frequent complaint 
That they suffer vexation and painful constraint. 

By having their circles too often distrest 

By some three or four goslings just fledged from the nest, 


COMPLIMENTAR T. 


303 


Who, propp’d by the credit their fathers sustain. 

Alike tender in years and in person and brain, 

But plenteously stock’d with that substitute, brass. 

For true wits and critics would anxiously pass. 

They complain of that empty sarcastical slang. 

So common to all the coxcombical gang, 

Who the fair with their shallow experience vex. 

By thrumming forever their weakness of sex ; 

And who boast of themselves, when they talk with proud aif 
Of Man’s mental ascendency over the fair. 

’Twas thus the young owlet produced in the nest. 

Where the eagle of Jove her young eaglets had prest. 
Pretended to boast of his royal descent. 

And vaunted that force which to eagles is lent. 

Though fated to shun with his dim visual ray. 

The cheering delights and the brilliance of day; 

To forsake the fair regions of ether and light. 

For dull moping caveims of darkness and night: 

Still talk’d of that eagle-like strength of the eye. 

Which approaches unwinking the pride of the sky. 

Of that wing which unwearied can hover and play 
In the noon-tide effulgence and torrent of day. 

Dear girls, the sad evils of which ye complain 
Your sex must endure from the feeble and vain, 

’Tis the commonplace jest of the nursery scape-goat, 

’Tis the commonplace ballad that croaks from his throat; 
He knows not that nature—that polish decrees. 

That women should always endeavor to please : 

That the law of their system has early imprest 
The importance of fitting themselves to each guest; 


304 


SALMAGUNDI. 


And, of course, that full oft when ye trifle and play, 
’Tis to gratify triflers who strut in your way. 

The child might as well of its mother complain. 

As wanting true wisdom and soundness of brain ; 
Because that, at times, while it hangs on her breast. 
She with a ‘lullaby-baby’’ beguiles it to rest. 

’Tis its weakness of mind that induces the strain. 

For wisdom to infants is prattled in vain. 

’Tis true at odd times, when in frolicsome flt, 

In the midst of his gambols, the mischievous wit 
May start some light foible that clings to the fair 
Like cobwebs that fasten to objects most rare,— 

In the play of his fancy will sportively say 
Some delicate censure that pops in his way. 

He may smile at your fashions, and frankly express 
His dislike of a dance or a flaming red dress; 

Yet he blames not your want of man’s physical force, 
Nor complains though ye cannot in Latin discourse. 
He delights in the language of nature ye speak. 
Though not so refined as true classic Grreek. 

He remembers that Providence never design’d 
Our females like suns to bewilder and blind ; 

But like the mild orb of pale ev’ning serene. 

Whose radiance illumines, yet softens the scene. 

To light us with cheering and welcoming ray. 

Along the rude path when the sun is away. 

I own in my scribblings I lately have nam’d 
Some faults of our fair which I gently have blam’d. 
But be it forever by all understood. 

My censures were only pronounc’d for their good 


COMPLIMENTAR T, 


305 


I delight in the sex ; ’tis the pride of mj mind, 

To consider them gentle, endearing, refin’d; 

As our solace below, in the journey of life. 

To smooth its rough passes—to soften its strife: 

As objects intended our joys to supply. 

And to lead us in love to the temples on high. 

How oft have I felt, when two lucid blue eyes. 

As calm and as bright as the gems of the skies. 

Have beam’d their soft radiance into my soul. 
Impress’d with an awe like an angel’s control I 
Yes, fair ones, by this is forever defin’d 
The fop from the man of refinement and mind; 

The latter believes ye in bounty were given 
As a bond upon earth of our union with heaven ; 

And if ye are weak and are frail, in his view 

’Tis to call forth fresh warmth and his fondness renew* 

’Tis his joy to support these defects of your frame. 

And his love at your weakness redoubles its fiame; 

He rejoices the gem is so rich and so fair. 

And is proud that it claims his protection and care. 

20 


NO. XIII.—FEIDAY, AUGUST 14, 1807. 


FROM MY ELBOW-CHAIR. 



WAS not a little perplexed, a short time since, 
by the eccentric conduct of my knowing coad¬ 
jutor, Will Wizard. For two or three days he 
was completely in a quandary. He would come into old 
Cockloft’s parlor ten times a day, swinging his ponder¬ 
ous legs along, with his usual vast strides, clap his hands 
into his sides, contemplate the little shepherdesses on 
the mantel-piece for a few minutes, whistling all the 
while, and then sally out full sweep, without uttering a 
word. To be sure, a pish or a pshaw occasionally 
escaped him; and he was observed once to pull out his 
enormous tobacco-box, drum for a moment upon its lid 
with his knuckles, and then return it into his pocket 
without taking a quid. ’Twas evident Will was full of 
some mighty idea: not that his restlessness was any way 
uncommon; for I have often seen Will throw himself 
almost in a fever of heat and fatigue—doing nothing. 
But this inflexible taciturnity set the whole family, as 
usual, a wondering: as Will seldom enters the house 
without giving one of his “one thousand and one” 

306 






WIZARD'S WHISTLE. 


307 


stories. For my part, I began to think that the late 
fracas at Canton had alarmed Will for the safety of his 
friends, Kinglun, Chinqua, and Consequa; or that some¬ 
thing had gone wrong in the alterations of the theatre; 
or that some new outrage at Norfolk had put him in a 
worry; in short, I did not know what to think; for Will 
is such a universal busybody, and meddles so much in 
everything going forward, that you might as well attempt 
to conjecture what is going on in the North Star as in 
his precious pericranium. Even Mrs. Cockloft, who, like 
a worthy woman as she is, seldom troubles herself about 
anything in this world—saving the affairs of her house¬ 
hold, and the correct deportment of her female friends 
—was struck with the mystery" of Will’s behavior. She 
happened, when he came in and went out the tenth 
time, to be busy darning the bottom of one of the old red 
damask chairs; and notwithstanding this is to her an 
affair of vast importance, yet she could not help turning 
round and exclaiming— 

“ I wonder what can be the matter with Mr. Wizard ? ” 

“Nothing,” replied old Christopher, “only we shall 
have an eruption soon.” 

The old lady did not understand a word of this, 
neither did she care; she had expressed her wonder; 
and that, with her, is always sufficient. 

I am so well acquainted with Will’s peculiarities that I 
can tell, even by his whistle, when he is about an essay 
for our paper, as certainly as a weather wiseacre knows 


308 


SALMAGUNDI. 


that it is going to rain when he sees a pig run squeaking 
about with his nose in the wind. I, therefore, laid my 
account with receiving a communication from him before 
long; and sure enough, the evening before last I distin¬ 
guished his freemason knock at my door. I have seen 
many wise men in my time, philosophers, mathema¬ 
ticians, astronomers, politicians, editors, and almanac- 
makers ; but never did I see a man look half so wise as 
did my friend Wizard on entering the room. Had La- 
vater beheld him at that moment, he would have set him 
down, to a certainty, as a fellow who had just discovered 
the longitude or the philosopher’s stone. 

Without saying a word, he handed me a roll of paper; 
after which he lighted his cigar, sat down, crossed his 
legs, folded his arms, and, elevating his nose to an angle 
of about forty-five degrees, began to smoke like a steam 
engine—^Will delights in the picturesque. On opening 
his budget, and perceiving the motto, it struck me that 
Will had brought me one of his confounded Chinese 
manuscripts, and I was forthwith going to dismiss it 
with indignation; but accidentally seeing the name of our 
oracle, the sage Linkum, of whose inestimable folios we 
pride ourselves upon being the sole possessors, I began 
to think the better of it, and looked round to Will to 
express approbation. I shall never forget the figure he 
cut at that moment! He had watched my countenance, 
on opening his manuscript, with the Argus eyes of an 
author; and, perceiving some tokens of disapprobation. 


A MAJ^[rSCIilPT. 


309 


began, according to custom, to puff away at his cigar 
with such vigor that in a few minutes he had entirely 
involved himself in smoke, except his nose and one foot, 
which were just visible, the latter wagging with great 
velocity. I believe I have hinted before—at least I ought 
to have done so—that Will’s nose is a very goodly nose ; 
to which it may be as well to add that, in his voyages 
under the tropics, it has acquired a copper complexion, 
which renders it very brilliant and luminous. You may 
imagine what a sumptuous appearance it made, project¬ 
ing boldly, like the celebrated promontmum nasidium at 
Samos, with a light-house upon it, and surrounded on all 
sides with smoke and vapor. Had my gravity been, like 
the Chinese philosopher’s, “ within one degree of abso¬ 
lute frigidity,” here would have been a trial for it. I 
could not stand it, but burst into such a laugh as I do 
not indulge in above once in a hundred years. This was 
too much for Will; he emerged from his cloud, threw 
his cigar into the fire-place, and strode out of the room, 
pulling up his breeches, muttering something which, I 
verily believe, was nothing more than a horrible long 
Chinese malediction. 

He, however, left his manuscript behind him, which I 
now give to the world. Whether he is serious on the 
occasion, or only bantering, no one, I believe, can tell; 
for, whether in speaking or writing, there is such an 
invincible gravity in his demeanor and style, that even I, 
who have studied him as closely as antiquarian studies 


310 


8ALMA0UNDL 


an old manuscript or inscription, am frequently at a loss 
to know what the rogue wotild be at. I have seen him 
indulge in his favorite amusement of quizzing for hours 
together, without any one having the least suspicion of 
the matter, until he would suddenly twist his phiz into 
an expression that baffles all description, thrust his 
tongue in his cheek, and blow up in a laugh almost as 
loud as the shout of the Romans on a certain occasion, 
which honest Plutarch avers frightened several crows to 
such a degree that they fell down stone dead into the 
Campus Martius. Jeremy Cockloft the younger, who, like 
a true modern philosopher, delights in experiments that 
are of no kind of use, took the trouble to measure one of 
Will’s risible explosions, and declared to me that, ac¬ 
cording to accurate measurement, it contained thirty feet 
square of solid laughter. What will the professors say 
to this ? 


PLANS FOR DEFENDING OUR HARBOR. 

BY WILLIAM WIZARD, ESQ. 

Long-fong teko buzz tor-pe>do, 

Fudge- Confucius. 

We’ll blow the villains all sky-high ; 

But do it with econo-my. Link. Fid. 

aURELT never was a town more subject to midsum¬ 
mer fancies and dog-day whimwhams than this most 
excellent of cities; our notions, like our diseases, seem 



HARBOR DEFENSES. 


311 


all epidemic; and no sooner does a new disorder or a 
new freak seize one individual but it is sure to run 
through all the community. This is particularly the 
case when the summer is at the hottest, and everybody’s 
head is in a vertigo, and his brain in a ferment; ’tis ab¬ 
solutely necessary, then, the poor souls should have 
some bubble to amuse themselves with, or they would 
certainly run mad. Last year the poplar worm made its 
appearance most fortunately for our citizens; and every¬ 
body was so much in horror of being poisoned, and de¬ 
voured, and so busied in making humane experiments on 
cats and dogs, that we got through the summer quite com¬ 
fortably ; the cats had the worst of it; every mouser of 
them was shaved, and there was not a whisker to be seen 
in the whole sisterhood. This summer everybody has had 
full employment in planning fortifications for our harbor. 
Not a cobbler or tailor in the city but has left his awl and 
his thimble, become an engineer outright, and aspired most 
magnanimously to the building of forts and the destruc¬ 
tion of navies ! Heavens! as my friend Mustapha would 
say, on what a great scale is everything in this country! 

Among the various plans that have been offered, the 
most conspicuous is one devised and exhibited, as I am 
informed, by that notable confederacy, ‘‘The North 
Kiver Society.” 

Anxious to redeem their reputation from the foul sus¬ 
picions that have for a long time overclouded it, these 
aquatic incendiaries have come forward, at the present 


312 


8ALMA0UNDL 


alarming juncture, and announced a most potent discovery 
which is to guarantee our port from the visits of any for¬ 
eign marauders. The Society have, it seems, invented a 
cunning machine, shrewdly yclept a Torpedo,"^ by which 
the stoutest line of battle ship, even a Santissima Trini- 
dada, may be caught napping and decomposed in a twin¬ 
kling; a kind of submarine powder-magazine to swim 
under water, like an aquatic mole, or water-rat, and de¬ 
stroy the enemy in the moments of unsuspicious security. 

This straw tickled the noses of all our dignitaries 
wonderfully; for to do our government justice, it has no 
objection to injuring and exterminating its enemies in any 
manner—provided the thing can be done economically. 

It was determined the experiment should be tried, and 
an old brig was purchased for not more than twice its 
value, and delivered over into the hands of its tormentors, 
the North Kiver Society, to be tortured, and battered, 

* The allusion is here evidently to the experiment made by Fulton in 
New York harbor, on the 20th of July, 1807, shortly after his return from 
Europe, bringing with him the favorite plans of “torpedo warfare,” as 
he called it, which he had laid before the governments of France and 
England. An old brig was, after some delay, blown up in the bay by 
one of Fulton’s charged canisters. The affair, with Fulton’s appeal to 
the government, his previous lecture on Governor’s Island to the magis¬ 
tracy of the city, when the audience was somewhat diminished on the 
production of one of the loaded torpedoes, with his declaration that it 
contained a hundred and seventy pounds of powder, and that, if he were 
to suffer the clock-work to run fifteen minutes, he had no doubt it would 
blow the fortifications to atoms—all this, with his letter to the Corpora¬ 
tion the day after his successful experiment, was well calculated to pro¬ 
duce the stir in the city so pleasantly set forth in this paper of Salma¬ 
gundi. 


NOT REASONING AS A POLITICIAN 


313 


and annihilated, secuTidum artem, A day was appointed 
for the occasion, when all the good citizens of the wonder- 
loving city of Gotham were invited to the blowing-up; 
like the fat innkeeper in Kabelais, who requested all his 
customers to come on a certain day and see him burst. 

As I have almost as great a veneration as the good 
Mr. Walter Shandy for all kinds of experiments that are 
ingeniously ridiculous, I made very particular mention of 
the one in question at the table of my friend Christopher 
Cockloft; but it put the honest old gentleman in a violent 
passion. He condemned it in toto as an attempt to in¬ 
troduce a dastardly and exterminating mode of warfare. 
“ Already have we proceeded far enough,” said he, “ in 
the science of destruction; war is already invested with 
sufficient horrors and calamities. Let us not increase 
the catalogue; let us not, by these deadly artifices, pro¬ 
voke a system of insidious and indiscriminate hostility, 
that shall terminate in laying our cities desolate, and 
exposing our women, our children, and our infirm, to the 
sword of pitiless recrimination.” Honest old cavalier!— 
it was evident he did not reason as a true politician—but 
he felt as a Christian and philanthropist; and that was 
perhaps just as well. 

It may be readily supposed, that our citizens did not 
refuse the invitation of the Society to the blow-up; it was 
the first naval action ever exhibited in our port, and the 
good people all crowded to see the British navy blown up 
in effigy. The young ladies were delighted with the 


314 


SALMAGUNDI 


novelty of the show, and declared that if war could be 
conducted in this manner, it would become a fashionable 
amusement; and the destruction of a fleet be as pleasant 
as a ball or a tea-party. The old folk were equally 
pleased with the spectacle—because it cost them nothing. 
Dear souls, how hard was it they should be disappointed! 
the brig most obstinately refused to be decomposed ; the 
dinners were cold, and the puddings were overboiled, 
throughout the renowned city of Gotham; and its sapient 
inhabitants, like the honest Strasburghers, from whom 
most of them are doubtless descended, who went out to 
see the courteous stranger and his nose, all returned 
home after having threatened to pull down the flag-staff 
by way of taking satisfaction for their disappointment. 
By the way, there is not an animal in the world more 
discriminating in its vengeance than a free-born mob. 

In the evening I repaired to friend Hogg’s, to smoke a 
sociable cigar, but had scarcely entered the room when I 
was taken prisoner by my friend, Mr. Ichabod Fungus; 
who I soon saw was at his usual trade of prying into mill¬ 
stones. The old gentleman informed me that the brig 
had actually blown up after a world of maneuvering, and 
had nearly blown up the Society with it; he seemed to 
entertain strong doubts as to the objects of the Society in 
the invention of these infernal machines—hinted a sus¬ 
picion of their wishing to set the river on fire, and that 
he should not be surprised, on waking one of these 
mornings, to find the Hudson in a blaze. 


SUCCESS INEVITABLE. 


315 


“Not that I disapprove of the plan,” said he, “pro¬ 
vided it has the end in view which they profess ; no, no, 
an excellent plan of defense; no need of batteries, forts, 
frigates, and gnn-boats; observe, sir, all that’s necessary 
is that the ships must come to anchor in a convenient 
place; watch must be asleep, or so complacent as not to 
disturb any boats paddling about them—fair wind and 
tide—no moonlight—machines well directed—mustn’t 
flash in the pan—bang’s the word, and the vessel’s blown 
up in a moment! ” 

“Good,” said I, “you remind me of a lubberly Chinese 
who was flogged by an honest captain of my acquaintance, 
and who, on being advised to retaliate, exclaimed : ‘ Hi 
yah! s’pose two men hold fast him captain, den very 
mush me bamboo he ! ’ ” 

The old gentleman grew a little crusty, and insisted 
that I did not understand him; all that was requisite to 
render the effect certain was, that the enemy should enter 
into the project: or, in other words, be agreeable to the 
measure; so that if the machine did not come to the ship, 
the ship should go to the machine; by which means he 
thought the success of the machine would be inevitable— 
provided it struck fire. 

“ But do not you think,” said I, doubtingly, “ that it 
would be rather difficult to persuade the enemy into such 
an agreement ? Some people have an invincible antipathy 
to being blown up.” 

“Not at all,not at all,” replied he, triumphantly; “got 


316 


SALMAGUNDI. 


an excellent notion for tliat; do with them as we have 
done with the brig—buy all the vessels we mean to 
destroy, and blow ’em up as best suits our convenienca 
I have thought deeply on that subject, and have calcu¬ 
lated to a certainty that if our funds hold out we may, in 
this way, destroy the whole British navy—by contract.” 

By this time all the quidnuncs of the room had gath¬ 
ered around us, each pregnant with some mighty scheme 
for the salvation of his country. One pathetically la¬ 
mented that we had no such men among us as the 
famous Toujoursdort and Grossitout; who, when the 
celebrated Captain Trenchement made war against the 
city of Kalacahabalaba, utterly discomfited the great 
king, Bigstaff, and blew up his whole army by sneezing. 
Another imparted a sage idea, which seems to have 
occupied more heads than one; that is, that the best 
way of fortifying the harbor was to ruin it at once— 
choke the channel with rocks and blocks; strew it with 
chevaux-de-frise and torpedoes, and make it like a nurs¬ 
ery-garden, full of men-traps and spring-guns. No vessel 
would then have the temerity to enter our harbor; we 
should not even dare to navigate it ourselves. Or, if no 
cheaper way could be devised, let Governor’s Island be 
raised by levers and pulleys—floated with empty casks, 
etc., towed down to the Narrows, and dropped plump in 
the very mouth of the harbor! 

‘‘But,” said I, “would not the prosecution of these 
whimwhams be rather expensive and dilatory ? ” 


MUSTAFHA'8 PLAN OF DEFENSE, 


317 


** Pshaw ! ” cried the other, “ what’s a million of money 
to an experiment ? The true spirit of our economy 
requires that we should spare no expense in discovering 
the cheapest mode of defending ourselves; and then if 
all these modes should fail, why, you know the worst we 
have to do is to return to the old-fashioned humdrum 
mode of forts and batteries.” 

“ By which time,” cried I, “ the arrival of the enemy 
may have rendered their erection superfluous.” 

A shrewd old gentleman who stood listening by, with 
a mischievously equivocal look, observed that the most 
effectual mode of repulsing a fleet from our ports would 
be to administer them a proclamation from time to time, 
till it operated. 

Unwilling to leave the company without demonstrat¬ 
ing my patriotism and ingenuity, I communicated a plan 
of defense ; which, in truth, was suggested long since by 
that infallible oracle, Mustapha, who had as clear a head 
for cobweb weaving as ever dignified the shoulders of a 
projector. He thought the most effectual mode would be 
to assemble all the slangwhangers, great and small, from 
all parts of the State, and marshal them at the Battery, 
where they should be exposed point-blank to the enemy, 
and form a tremendous body of scolding infantry, similar 
to the poissardsy or doughty champions of Billingsgate. 
They should be exhorted to fire away without pity or 
remorse, in sheets, half-sheets, columns, handbills, or 
squibs; great cannon, little cannon, pica, German text, 


318 


SALMAGUNDI. 


stereotype, and to run their enemies through and 
through with sharp-pointed italics. They should have 
orders to show no quarter—to blaze away in their loud¬ 
est epithets—“ miscreants! ” “ murderers! ” “ barbarians! 

pirates!'' "^robbers!" “Blackguards!” and to do away 
all fear of consequences, they should be guaranteed from 
all dangers of pillory, kicking, cuffing, nose-pulling, whip¬ 
ping-post, or prosecution for libels. “If,” continued 
Mustapha, “you wish men to fight well and valiantly, 
they must be allowed those weapons they have been 
used to handle. Your countrymen are notoriously adroit 
in the management of the tongue and the pen, and con¬ 
duct all their battles by speeches or newspapers. Adopt, 
therefore, the plan I have pointed out; and rely upon it 
that, let any fleet, however large, be but once assailed by 
this battery of slangwhangers, and if they have not 
entirely lost the sense of hearing, or a regard for their 
own characters and feelings, they will, at the very first 
fire, slip their cables, and retreat with as much precipita¬ 
tion as if they had unwarily entered into the atmosphere 
of the Bohan upas. In this manner may your wars be 
conducted with proper economy; and it w ill cost no 
more to drive off a fleet than to write up a party, or 
write down a bashaw with three tails.” 

The sly old gentleman I have before mentioned, was 
highly delighted with this plan; and proposed, as an 
improvement, that mortars should be placed on the Bat¬ 
tery, which, instead of throwing shells and such trifles. 


EXPERIMENTS OF JEREMY COCKLOFT. 319 


might be charged with newspapers, Tammany addresses, 
etc., by way of red-hot shot, which would undoubtedly 
be very potent in blowing up any powder magazine they 
might chance to come in contact with. He concluded by 
informing the company, that in the course of a few even¬ 
ings, he would have the honor to present them with a 
scheme for loading certain vessels with newspapers, 
resolutions of “numerous and respectable meetings,” 
and other combustibles, which vessels were to be blown 
directly in the midst of the enemy by the bellows of 
the slangwhangers; and he was much mistaken if they 
would not be more fatal than fire-ships, bomb-ketches, 
gun-boats, or even torpedoes. 

These are but two or three specimens of the nature 
and efficacy of the innumerable plans with which this 
city abounds. Everybody seems charged to the muzzle 
with gunpowder—every eye flashes fire-works and tor¬ 
pedoes—and every corner is occupied by knots of in¬ 
flammatory projectors, not one of whom but has some 
preposterous mode of destruction, which he has proved 
to be infallible by a previous experiment in a tub of 
water! 

Even Jeremy Cockloft has caught the infection, to 
the great annoyance of the inhabitants of Cockloft Hall, 
whither he retired to make his experiments undisturbed. 
At one time all the mirrors in the house were unhung— 
their collected rays thrown into the hot-house, to try 
Archimedes’ plan of burning-glasses ; and the honest old 


320 


SALMAGUNDT. 


gardener was almost knocked down by what he mistook 
for a stroke of the sun, but which turned out to be noth¬ 
ing more than a sudden attack of one of these tremen¬ 
dous jack-o’-lanterns. It became dangerous to walk 
through the court-yard for fear of an explosion; and the 
whole family was thrown into absolute distress and con¬ 
sternation, by a letter from the old housekeeper to Mrs. 
Cockloft, informing her of his having blown up a favorite 
Chinese gander, which I had brought from Canton, as he 
was majestically sailing in the duck-pond. 

“In the multitude of counselors there is safety;” if 
so, the defenseless city of Gotham has nothing to appre¬ 
hend ; but much do I fear that so many excellent and 
infallible projects will be presented, that we shall be at 
a loss which to adopt; and the peaceable inhabitants 
fare like a famous projector of my acquaintance, whose 
house was unfortunately plundered while he was con¬ 
triving a patent lock to secure his door. 


FROM MY ELBOW-CHAIR. 

A RETROSPECT ; OR, “ WHAT YOU WILL.” 

"|~ ^ QLLING in my elbow-chair this fine summer noon, 
I feel myself insensibly yielding to that genial feel¬ 
ing of indolence the season is so well fitted to inspire. 
Every one who is blessed with a little of the delicious 



A RETROSPECT. 


321 


languor of disposition that delights in repose, must often 
have sported among the fairy scenes, the golden visions, 
the voluptuous reveries, that swim before the imagina¬ 
tion at such moments, and which so much resemble 
those blissful sensations a Mussulman enjoys after his 
favorite indulgence of opium, which Will Wizard de¬ 
clares can be compared to nothing but “ swimming in an 
ocean of peacocks’ feathers.” In such a mood everybody 
must be sensible it would be idle and unprofitable for a 
man to send his wits a gadding on a voyage of discovery 
into futurity, or even to trouble himself with a laborious 
investigation of what is actually passing under his eye. 
We are, at such times, more disposed to resort to the 
pleasures of memory than to those of the imagination; 
and, like the wayfaring traveller, reclining for a moment 
on his staff, had rather contemplate the ground we have 
travelled, than the region which is yet before us. 

I could here amuse myself, and stultify my readers, 
with a most elaborate and ingenious parallel between 
authors and travellers; but in this balmy season, which 
makes men stupid and dogs mad, and when, doubtless, 
many of our most strenuous admirers have great diffi¬ 
culty in keeping awake through the day, it would be 
cruel to saddle them with the formidable difficulty of 
putting two ideas together and drawing a conclusion, or, 
in the learned phrase, forging syllogisms in Baroco —a 
terrible undertaking for the dog-days! To say the truth, 
my observations were only intended to prove that this, 
21 


322 


8ALMA0UNDL 


of all others, is the most auspicious moment, and my 
present, the favorable mood for indulging in a retrospect. 
Whether, like certain great personages of the day, in 
attempting to prove one thing, I have exposed another; 
or whether, like certain other great personages, in at¬ 
tempting to prove a great deal, I have proved nothing at 
all, I leave to my readers to decide, provided they have 
the power and inclination so to do; but a retrospect will 
I take, notwithstanding. 

I am perfectly aware that in doing this I shall lay 
myself open to the charge of imitation, than which a 
man might be better accused of downright housebreak¬ 
ing ; for it has been a standing rule with many of my 
illustrious predecessors, occasionally, and particularly at 
the conclusion of a volume, to look over their shoulder 
and chuckle at the miracles they had achieved. But, as 
I before professed, I am determined to hold myself en¬ 
tirely independent of all manner of opinions and criti¬ 
cisms, as the only method of getting on in this world in 
anything like a straight line. True it is, I may some¬ 
times seem to angle a little for the good opinion of man¬ 
kind, by giving them some excellent reasons for doing 
unreasonable things; but this is merely to show them, 
that although I may occasionally go wrong, it is not for 
want of knowing how to go right; and here I will lay 
down a maxim, which will forever entitle me to the 
gratitude of my inexperienced readers, namely, that a 
man always gets more credit in the eyes of this naughty 


A RETROSPECT. 


323 


world for sinning willfully than for sinning through 
sheer ignorance. 

It will doubtless be insisted by many ingenious cavil- 
ers, who will be meddling with what does not at all con¬ 
cern them, that this retrospect should have been taken 
at the commencement of our second volume; it is usual, 
I know : moreover it is natural. So soon as a writer has 
once accomplished a volume, he forthwith becomes won¬ 
derfully increased in altitude! he steps upon his book 
as upon a pedestal, and is elevated in proportion to its 
magnitude. A duodecimo makes him one inch taller; an 
octavo, three inches; a quarto, six; but he who has 
made out to swell a folio looks down upon his fellow 
creatures from such a fearful height that, ten to one, the 
poor man’s head is turned forever afterward. From such 
a lofty situation, therefore, it is natural an author should 
cast his eyes behind, and having reached the first land¬ 
ing-place on the stairs of immortality, may reasonably be 
allowed to plead his privilege to look back over the 
height he has ascended. I have deviated a little from 
this venerable custom, merely that our retrospect might 
fall in the dog days—of all days in the year most con¬ 
genial to the indulgence of a little self-sufficiency, inas¬ 
much as people have then little to do but to retire 
within the sphere of self, and make the most of what 
they find there. 

Let it not be supposed, however, that we think our¬ 
selves a whit the wiser or better since we have finished 


324 


SALMAQUNBL 


our volume than we were before; on the contrary, we 
seriously assure our readers that we were fully possessed 
of all the wisdom and morality it contains at the mo¬ 
ment we commenced writing. It is the world which has 
grown wiser, not us; we have thrown our mite into the 
common stock of knowledge, we have shared our morsel 
with the ignorant multitude ; and so far from elevating 
ourselves above the world, our sole endeavor has been to 
raise the world to our own level, and make it as wise as 
we, its disinterested benefactors. 

To a moral writer like myself, who, next to his own 
comfort and entertainment, has the good of his fellow- 
citizens at heart, a retrospect is but a sorry amusement. 
Like the industrious husbandman, he often contemplates 
in silent disappointment his labors wasted on a barren 
soil, or the seeds he has carefully sown, choked by a re¬ 
dundancy of worthless weeds. I expected long ere this 
to have seen a complete reformation in manners and 
morals, achieved by our united efforts. My fancy echoed 
to the applauding voices of a retrieved generation; I an¬ 
ticipated, with proud satisfaction, the period, not far dis¬ 
tant, when our work would be introduced into the acad¬ 
emies with which every lane and alley of our cities 
abounds; when our precepts would be gently inducted into 
every unlucky urchin by force of birch, and my iron- 
bound physiognomy, as taken by Will Wizard, be as no^ 
torious as that of Noah Webster, junr.. Esq., or his no less 
renowned predecessor, the illustrious Dilworth of spell- 


FUTILE EFFORTS. 


325 


ing-book immortality.* But, well-a-day! to let my read¬ 
ers into a profound secret—tlie expectations of man are 
like the varied hues that tinge the distant prospect; 
never to be realized, never to be enjoyed but in perspec¬ 
tive. Luckless Launcelot, that the humblest of the many 
air castles thou hast erected should prove a “baseless 
fabric! ” Much does it grieve me to confess, that after 
all our lectures, precepts, and excellent admonitions, the 
people of New York are nearly as much given to back¬ 
sliding and ill-nature as ever; they are just as much 
abandoned to dancing and tea-drinking ; and as to scan¬ 
dal, Will Wizard informs me that, by a rough computa¬ 
tion, since the last cargo of gunpowder-tea from Canton, 
no less than eighteen characters have been blown up, be¬ 
sides a number of others that have been wofully shat¬ 
tered. 

The ladies still labor under the same scarcity of mus¬ 
lins, and delight in flesh-colored silk stockings; it is evi¬ 
dent, however, that our advice has had very considerable 
effect on them, as they endeavor to act as opposite to it 

♦ Dr. Francis, in his remarks on the life and character of Washington 
Irving, before the Historical Society, alludes to this conflict of spelling- 
books at the school in which they were both instructed. “There was a 
curious conflict existing in the school between the principal and his assist¬ 
ant instructor ; the former a legitimate burgher of the city, the latter 
a New England pedagogue. So far as I can remember, something de¬ 
pended on the choice of the boy’s parents in the selection of his studies ; 
but if not expressed otherwise, the principal stuck earnestly to Dil^^orth, 
while the assistant, for his section of instruction, held to Noah Web* 
ster.” 


326 


SALMAGUNDI. 


as possible; this being what Evergreen calls female in¬ 
dependence. As to Straddles, they abound as much as 
ever in Broadway, particularly on Sundays; and Wizard 
roundly asserts that he supped in company with a knot 
of them a few evenings since, when they liquidated a 
whole Birmingham consignment, in a batch of imperial 
champagne. I have, furthermore, in the course of a 
month past, detected no less than three Giblet families 
making their first onset toward style and gentility in the 
very manner we have heretofore reprobated. Nor have 
our utmost efforts been able to check the progress of 
that alarming epidemic, the rage for punning, which, 
though doubtless originally intended merely to ornament 
and enliven conversation by little sports of fancy, threat¬ 
ens to overrun and poison the whole, like the baneful ivy 
which destroys the useful plant it first embellished. 
Now I look upon a habitual punster as a depredator 
upon conversation; and I have remarked sometimes one 
of these offenders, sitting silent on the watch for an hour 
together, until some luckless wight, unfortunately for the 
ease and quiet of the company, dropped a phrase sus¬ 
ceptible of a double meaning: when—pop, our punster 
would dart out like a veteran mouser from her covert, 
seize the unlucky word, and after worrying and mum¬ 
bling at it until it was capable of no further marring, re¬ 
lapse again into silent watchfulness, and lie in wait for 
another opportunity. Even this might be borne with, by 
the aid of a little philosophy; but the worst of it is, they 


PUNSTERS. 


327 


are not content to manufacture puns and laugh heartily 
at them themselves; but they expect we should laugh 
with them, which I consider as an intolerable hard¬ 
ship, and a flagrant imposition on good-nature. Let 
those gentlemen fritter away conversation with impu¬ 
nity, and deal out their wits in sixpenny bits if they 
please; but I beg I may have the choice of refusing cur¬ 
rency to their small change. I am seriously afraid, how¬ 
ever, that our junto is not quite free from the infection— 
nay, that it has even approached so near as to menace 
the tranquillity of my elbow-chair; for Will Wizard, as 
we were in caucus the other night, absolutely electrifled 
Pindar and myself with a most palpable and perplexing 
pun ; had it been a torpedo, it could not have more dis¬ 
composed the fraternity. Sentence of banishment was 
unanimously decreed; but on his confessing that, like 
many celebrated wits, he was merely retailing other 
men’s wares on commission, he was for that once for¬ 
given on condition of refraining from such diabolical 
practices in future. Pindar is particularly outrageous 
against punsters ; and quite astonished and put me to a 
nonplus a day or two since, by asking abruptly “ whether 
I thought a punster could be a good Christian ? ” He 
followed up his question triumphantly by offering to 
prove, by sound logic and historical fact, that the Eoman 
Empire owed its decline and fall to a pun; and that 
nothing tended so much to demoralize the French na¬ 
tion, as their abominable rage ioxjeux de mots. 


328 


SALMAGUNDI. 


But what, above everything else, has caused me much 
vexation of spirit, and displeased me most with this 
stiflf-necked nation is, that in spite of all the serious and 
profound censures of the sage Mustapha, in his various 
letters—they ivill talk !—they will still wag their tongues, 
and chatter like very slangwhangers! This is a degree 
of obstinacy incomprehensible in the extreme; and is an¬ 
other proof how alarming is the force of habit, and how 
difficult it is to reduce beings, accustomed to talk, to that 
state of silence which is the very acme of human wisdom. 

We can only account for these disappointments in our 
moderate and reasonable expectations, by supposing the 
world so deeply sunk in the mire of delinquency, that 
not even Hercules, were he to put his shoulder to the 
axletree, would be able to extricate it. We comfort our¬ 
selves, however, by the reflection that there are at least 
three good men left in this degenerate age to benefit the 
world by example, should precept ultimately fail. And 
borrowing, for once, an example from certain sleepy 
writers who, after the first emotions of surprise at finding 
their invaluable effusions neglected or despised, console 
themselves with the idea that ’tis a stupid age, and look 
forward to posterity for redress, we bequeath our volume 
to future generations—and much good may it do them. 
Heaven grant they may be able to read it! for, if our 
fashionable mode of education continues to improve, as 
of late, I am under serious apprehensions that the period 
is not far distant when the discipline of the dancing- 


LAUOHINO FOLLY GUT OF COUNTENANCE. 329 


master will supersede that of the grammarian; crotchets 
and quavers supplant the alphabet: and the heels, by an 
antipodean maneuver, obtain entire pre-eminence over the 
head. How does my heart yearn for poor, dear posterity, 
when this work shall become unintelligible to our grand¬ 
children, as it seems to be to their grandfathers and 
grandmothers. 

In fact—for I love to be candid—we begin to suspect 
that many people read our numbers merely for their 
amusement, without paying any attention to the serious 
truths conveyed in every page. Unpardonable want of 
penetration! not that we wish to restrict our readers in 
the article of laughing, which we consider as one of the 
dearest prerogatives of man, and the distinguishing 
characteristic which raises him above all other animals : 
let them laugh, therefore, if they will, provided they 
profit at the same time, and do not mistake our object. 
It is one of our indisputable facts that it is easier to 
laugh ten follies out of countenance than to coax, reason, 
or flog a man out of one. In this odd, singular, and 
indescribable age,—w'hich is neither the age of gold, 
silver, iron, brass, chivalry, or piUs, as Sir John Carr as¬ 
serts,—a grave writer who attempts to attack folly with 
the heavy artillery of moral reasoning, will fare like 
Smollett’s honest pedant, who clearly demonstrated by 
angles, etc., after the manner of Euclid, that it was wrong 
to do evil—and was laughed at for his pains. Take my 
word for it, a little well-applied ridicule, like Hannibal’s 


330 


SALMAGUNDI. 


application of vinegar to rocks, will do more with certain 
hard heads and obdurate hearts, than all the logic or 
demonstrations in Longinus or Euclid. But the people 
of Gotham, wise souls! are so much accustomed to see 
Morality approach them clothed in formidable wigs and 
sable garbs, “with leaden eye that loves the ground,” 
that they can never recognize her when, drest in gay 
attire, she comes tripping toward them with smiles and 
sunshine in her countenance.—Well, let the rogues re¬ 
main in happy ignorance, for “ ignorance is bliss ” as the 
poet says—and I put as implicit faith in poetry as I do 
in the almanac or the newspaper. We will improve them, 
without their being the wiser for it, and they shall become 
better in spite of their teeth, and without their having 
the least suspicion of the reformation working within 
them. 

Among all our manifold grievances, however, still some 
small but vivid rays of sunshine occasionally brighten 
along our path; cheering our steps, and inviting us to 
persevere. 

The public have paid some little regard to a few arti¬ 
cles of our advice; they have purchased our numbers 
freely—so much the better for our publisher; they have 
read them attentively—so much the better for them¬ 
selves. The melancholy fate of my dear aunt Charity 
has had a wonderful effect; and I have now before me a 
letter from a gentleman who lives opposite to a couple of 
old ladies, remarkable for the interest they took in his 


RAT8 OF SUNSHINE. 


331 


affairs; his apartments were absolutely in a state o 
blockade, and he was on the point of changing his lodg¬ 
ings, or capitulating, until the appearance of our ninth 
number, which he immediately sent over with his com¬ 
pliments. The good ladies took the hint, and have 
scarcely appeared at their window since. As to the 
wooden gentlemen, our friend, Miss Sparkle, assures me, 
they are wonderfully improved by our criticisms, and 
sometimes venture to make a remark, or attempt a pun 
in company, to the great edification of all who happen to 
understand them. As to the red shawls, they are entirely 
discarded from the fair shoulders of our ladies—ever 
since the last importation of finery—nor has any lady, 
since the cold weather, ventured to expose her elbows to 
the admiring gaze of scrutinizing passengers. But there 
is one victory we have achieved which has given us more 
pleasure than to have written down the whole adminis¬ 
tration : I am assured, from unquestionable authority, 
that our young ladies—doubtless in consequence of our 
weighty admonitions—have not once indulged in that 
intoxicating, inflammatory, and whirligig dance, the 
waltz—ever since hot weather commenced. True it is, 
I understand an attempt was made to exhibit it by some 
of the sable fair ones at the last African ball, but it 
was highly disapproved of by all the respectable elderly 
ladies present. 

These are sweet sources of comfort to atone for the 
many wrongs and misrepresentations heaped upon us by 


332 


SALMAGUNDL 


fclie world—for even we have experienced its ill-nature. 
How often have we heard ourselves reproached for the 
insidious applications of the uncharitable! how often 
have we been accused of emotions which never found 
an entrance into our bosoms! how often have our 
sportive effusions been wrested to serve the purposes of 
particular enmity and bitterness ! Meddlesome spirits t 
little do they know our disposition: we “ lack gall ” to 
wound the feelings of a single innocent individual; we 
can even forgive them from the very bottom of our 
souls; may they meet as ready a forgiveness from their 
own consciences ! Like true and independent bachelors, 
having no domestic cares to interfere with our general 
benevolence, we consider it incumbent upon us to watch 
over the welfare of society; and although we are in¬ 
debted to the world for little else than left-handed 
favors, yet we feel a proud satisfaction in requiting 
evil with good, and the sneer of illiberality with the 
unfeigned smile of good humor. With these mingled 
motives of selfishness and philanthropy we commenced 
our work, and if we cannot solace ourselves with the 
consciousness of having done much good, yet there is 
still one pleasing consolation left, which the world can 
neither give nor take away. There are moments—linger¬ 
ing moments of listless indifference and heavy-hearted 
despondency—when our best hopes and affections slip¬ 
ping, as they sometimes will, from their hold on those 
objects to which they usually cling for support, seem 


CRITICAL OAB-FLIES, 


333 


abandoned on the wide waste of cheerless existence, 
without a place to cast anchor; without a shore in view 
to excite a single wish, or to give a momentary interest 
to contemplation. We look back with delight upon 
many of these moments of mental gloom, whiled away 
by the cheerful exercise of our pen, and consider every 
such triumph over the spleen as retarding the furrow¬ 
ing hand of time in its insidious encroachments on our 
brows. If, in addition to our own amusement, we have, 
as we jogged carelessly laughing along, brushed away 
one tear of dejection and called forth a smile in its 
place—if we have brightened the pale countenance of a 
child of sorrow,—we shall feel almost as much joy and 
rejoicing as a slangwhanger does when he bathes his 
pen in the heart’s blood of a patron and benefactor, or 
sacrifices one more illustrious victim on the altar of 
party animosity. 


TO READERS AND CORRESPONDENTS. 

XT is our misfortune to be frequently pestered, in oui 
peregrinations about this blessed city, by certain 
critical gad-flies; who buzz around and merely attack 
the skin, without ever being able to penetrate the body 
The reputation of our promising proUge^ Jeremy Cock¬ 
loft the younger, has been assailed by these skin-deep 
critics; they have questioned his claims to originality, 
and even hinted that the ideas for his New Jersey Tour 



334 


SALMAGUNDI, 


were borrowed from a late work entitled “ My Pocket- 
book.” As there is no literary offense more despicable 
in the eyes of the trio than borrowing, we immediately 
called Jeremy to an account; when he proved, by the 
dedication of the work in question, that it was first pub¬ 
lished in London in March, 1807; and that his “ Stranger 
in New Jersey ” had made its appearance on the 24th of 
the preceding February. 

We were on the point of acquitting Jeremy with honor, 
on the ground that it was impossible, knowing as he is, 
to borrow from a foreign work one month before it was 
in existence; when Will Wizard suddenly took up the 
cudgels for the critics, and insisted that nothing was 
more probable, for he recollected reading of an ingeni¬ 
ous Dutch author who plainly convicted the ancients of 
stealing from his labors !—So much for criticism. 


We have received a host of friendly and admonitory 
letters from different quarters, and among the rest a very 
loving epistle from Georgetown, Columbia, signed Teddy 
M’Gundy, who addresses us by the name of Saul 
M’Gundy, and insists that we are descended from the 
same Irish progenitors, and nearly related. As friend 
Teddy seems to be an honest, merry rogue, we are sorry 
that we cannot admit his claims to kindred; we thank 
him, however, for his good-will, and should he ever be 



TO TEDDY M'OVND^ 


335 


inclined to favor ns with another epistle, we will hint to 
him, and at the same time to our other numerous corre¬ 
spondents, that their communications will be infinitely 
more acceptable if they will just recollect Tom Shuffle- 
ton’s advice, “pay the post-boy, Muggins.” 


NO. XIV.—SATUEDAT, SEPT. 16, 1807. 

LETTER PROM MCSTAPHA RUB-A-DUB KELl KHAN, 


TO ASEM HACCHEM, PRINCIPAL SLAVE-DRIVER TO HIS HIGHNESS THE BASHAM 
OF TRIPOLI. 


EALTH and joy to the friend of my heart! 
May the angel of peace ever watch over thy 
dwelling, and the star of prosperity shed its 
benignant lustre on all thy undertakings. Ear other is 
the lot of thy captive friend : his brighest hopes extend 
but to a lengthened period of weary captivity, and mem¬ 
ory only adds to the measure of his griefs, by holding 
up a mirror which reflects with redoubled charms the 
hours of past felicity. In midnight slumbers my soul 
holds sweet converse with the tender objects of its af¬ 
fections : it is then the exile is restored to his country: 
it is then the wide waste of waters that rolls between 
us disappears, and I clasp to my bosom the compan¬ 
ion of my youth; I awake and find it but a vision of 
the night. The sigh will rise ; the tear of dejection will 
steal adown my cheek; I fly to my pen, and strive to 
forget myself, and my sorrows, in conversing with my 
friend. 





POLITICS. 


337 


In such a situation, my good Asem, it cannot be ex¬ 
pected that I should be able so wholly to abstract my¬ 
self fi'om my own feelings, as to give thee a full and 
systematic account of the singular people among whom 
my disastrous lot has been cast. I can only find leisure, 
from my own individual sorrows, to entertain thee occa¬ 
sionally with some of the most prominent features of 
their character; and now and then a solitary picture of 
their most preposterous eccentricities. 

I have before observed, that among the distinguishing 
characteristics of the people of this logocracy, is their 
invincible love of talking; and, that I could compare the 
nation to nothing but a mighty windmill. Thou art 
doubtless at a loss to conceive how this mill is supplied 
with grist; or, in other words, how it is possible to fur¬ 
nish subjects to supply the perpetual motion of so many 
tongues. 

The genius of the nation appears in its highest lustre 
in this particular in the discovery, or rather the applica¬ 
tion of a subject which seems to supply an inexhaus¬ 
tible mine of words. It is nothing more, my friend, than 
“ politics; ” a word which, I declare to thee, has per¬ 
plexed me almost as much as the redoubtable one of 
economy. On consulting a dictionary of this language, 
I found it denoted the science of government; and the 
relations, situations, and dispositions of states and em¬ 
pires. Good! thought I; for a people who boast of 
governing themselves, there could not be a more impor- 
22 


338 


SALMAGUNDI. 


tant subject of investigation. I therefore listened atten¬ 
tively, expecting to hear from “the most enlightened 
people under the sun,”—for so they modestly term 
themselves,—sublime disputations on the science of leg¬ 
islation, and precepts of political wisdom that would not 
have disgraced our great prophet and legislator himself! 
—but, alas, Asem ! how continually are my expectations 
disappointed! how dignified a meaning does this word 
bear in the dictionary; how despicable its common ap¬ 
plication ; I find it extending to every contemptible dis¬ 
cussion of local animosity, and every petty altercation of 
insignificant individuals. It embraces, alike, all manner 
of concerns; from the organization of a divan, the elec¬ 
tion of a bashaw, or the levying of an army, to the ap¬ 
pointment of a constable, the personal disputes of two 
miserable slangwhangers, the cleaning of the streets, or 
the economy of a dirt cart. A couple of politicians will 
quarrel, with the most vociferous pertinacity, about the 
character of a bum-bailiff whom nobody cares for; or 
the deportment of a little great man whom nobody 
knows; and this is called talking politics ; nay! it is but 
few days since that I was annoyed by a debate between 
two of my fellow-lodgers, who were magnanimously em¬ 
ployed in condemning a luckless wight to infamy, be¬ 
cause he chose to wear a red coat, and to entertain 
certain erroneous opinions some thirty years ago. 
Shocked at their illiberal and vindictive spirit, I re¬ 
buked them for thus indulging in slander and unchari- 


THE LOOOGRAGY, 


339 


tablenesses, about the color of a coat, which had doubts 
less for many years been worn out; or the belief in 
errors, which in all probability had been long since 
atoned for and abandoned; but they justified themselves 
by alleging that they were only engaged in politics, and 
exerting that liberty of speech, and freedom of discus¬ 
sion, which was the glory and safeguard of their national 
independence. “ O Mahomet! ” thought I, “ what a coun¬ 
try must that be, which builds its political safety on 
ruined characters and the persecution of individuals ! 

Into what transports of surprise and incredulity am I 
continually betrayed, as the character of this eccentric 
people gradually develops itself to my observations. 
Every new research increases the perplexities in which I 
am involved, and I am more than ever at a loss where to 
place them in the scale of my estimation. It is thus the 
philosopher, in pursuing truth through the labyrinth of 
doubt, error, and misrepresentation, frequently finds him¬ 
self bewildered in the mazes of contradictory experience; 
and almost wishes he could quietly retrace his wandering 
steps, steal back into the path of honest ignorance, and 
jog on once more in contented indifference. 

How fertile in these contradictions is this extensive 
iogocracy! Men of different nations, manners, and lan¬ 
guages, live in this country in the most perfect harmony; 
and nothing is more common than to see individuals, 
whose respective governments are at variance, taking each 
other by the hand and exchanging the offices of friend- 


340 


8ALMAOUNDL 


Bliip. Nay, even on the subject of religion, which, as it 
affects our dearest interests, our earliest opinions and 
prejudices, some warmth and heart-burnings might be 
excused, which, even in our enlightened country, is so 
fruitful in difference between man and man!—even re¬ 
ligion occasions no dissension among these people ; and 
it has even been discovered, by one of their sages, that 
believing in one god or twenty gods “ neither breaks a 
man’s leg nor picks his pocket.”* The idolatrous 
Persian may here bow down before his everlasting fire, 
and prostrate himself toward the glowing east. The 
Chinese may adore his Fo, or his Josh; the Egyptian 
his stork; and the Mussulman practice, unmolested, the 
divine precepts of our immortal prophet. Nay, even the 
forlorn, abandoned Atheist, who lies down at night with¬ 
out committing himself to the protection of Heaven, 
and rises in the morning without returning thanks foiL 
his safety I who hath no deity but his own will; whose 
soul, like the sandy desert, is barren of every flower of 
hope to throw a solitary bloom over the dead level of 
sterility and soften the wide extent of desolation; whose 
darkened views extend not beyond the horizon that 
bounds his cheerless existence; to whom no blissful 
perspective opens beyond the grave—even he is suftered 

* Jefferson, in his Notes on Virginia, says, “ The legislative powers of 
government extend to such acts only as are injurious to others. But it 
does me no injury for my neighbor to say there are twenty gods or no god* 
It neither picks my pocket nor breaks my leg.’' 


THE RAGE FOR TALKING. 


341 


to indulge in his desperate opinions, without exciting 
one other emotion than pity or contempt. But this mild 
and tolerating spirit reaches not beyond the pale of re¬ 
ligion : once differ in politics, in mere theories, visions, 
and chimeras, the growth of interest, of folly, or madness, 
and deadly warfare ensues; every eye flashes fire, every 
tongue is loaded with reproach, and every heart is filled 
with gall and bitterness. 

At this period several unjustifiable and serious injuries 
on the part of the barbarians of the British Islands, have 
given a new impulse to the tongue and the pen, and 
occasioned a terrible wordy fever. Do not suppose, my 
friend, that I mean to condemn any proper and dignified 
expression of resentment for injuries. On the contrary, I 
love to see a word before a blow ; for “ in the fullness of 
the heart the tongue moveth.” But my long experience 
has convinced me, that people who talk the most about 
taking satisfaction for affronts, generally content them¬ 
selves with talking instead of revenging the insult; like 
the street women of this country, who after a prodigious 
scolding, quietly sit down and fan themselves cool as 
fast as possible. But to return : the rage for talking has 
now, in consequence of the aggressions I alluded to, in¬ 
creased to a degree far beyond what I have observed 
heretofore. In the gardens of His Highness of Tripoli 
are fifteen thousand bee-hives, three hundred peacocks, 
and a prodigious number of parrots and baboons : and 
yet I declare to thee, Asem, that their buzzing, and 


342 


8ALMA0UNDL 


squalling, and chattering is nothing compared to the 
wild uproar and war of words, now raging within the 
bosom of this mighty and distracted logocracy. Politics 
pervade every city, every village, every temple, every 
porter-house : the universal question is, “ What is the 
news ? ” This is a kind of challenge to political debate ; 
and as no two men think exactly alike, ’tis ten to one, 
but before they finish, all the polite phrases in the 
language are exhausted by way of giving fire and energy 
to argument. What renders this talking fever more 
alarming is, that the people appear to be in the unhappy 
state of a patient whose palate nauseates the medicine 
best calculated for the cure of his disease, and seem anx¬ 
ious to continue the full enjoyment of their chattering 
epidemic. They alarm each other by direful reports 
and fearful apprehensions; like I have seen a lot of 
old wives in this country entertain themselves with 
stories of ghosts and goblins until their imaginations 
were in a most agonizing panic. Every day begets some 
new tale, big with agitation; and the busy goddess. 
Rumor, to speak in the poetic language of the Chris¬ 
tians, is constantly in motion. She mounts her rattling 
stage-wagon, and gallops about the country, freighted 
with a load of “ hints,” “ informations,” “ extracts of let¬ 
ters from respectable gentlemen,” “observations of re¬ 
spectable correspondents,” and “ unquestionable author¬ 
ities ; ”—which her high-priests, the slangwhangers, re¬ 
tail to their sapient followers, with all the solemnity, and 


A BATTLE OF WORDS. 


343 


all the authenticity of oracles. True it is, the unfortu¬ 
nate slangwhangers are sometimes at a loss for food, to 
supply this insatiable appetite for intelligence ; and are, 
not unfrequently, reduced to the necessity of manufactur¬ 
ing dishes suited to the taste of the times, to be served 
up as morning and evening repasts to their disciples. 

When the hungry politician is thus full charged with 
important information, he sallies forth to give due exer¬ 
cise to his tongue; and tells all he knows, to everybody 
he meets. Now it is a thousand to one that every person 
he meets is just as wise as himself, charged with the 
same articles of information, and possessed of the same 
violent inclination to give it vent; for in this country 
every man adopts some particular slangwhanger, as the 
standard of his judgment, and reads everything he writes 
if he reads nothing else; which is doubtless the reason 
why the people of this logocracy are so marvelously en¬ 
lightened. So away they tilt at each other with their 
borrowed lances, advancing to the combat with the opin¬ 
ions and speculations of their respective slangwhangers, 
which, in all probability, are diametrically opposite. 
Here then arises as fair an opportunity for a battle of 
words as heart could wish; and thou mayst rely upon it, 
Asem, they do not let it pass unimproved. They some¬ 
times begin with argument; but in process of time, as 
the tongue begins to wax wanton, other auxiliaries be¬ 
come necessary; recrimination commences; reproach fol¬ 
lows close at its heels; from political abuse they proceed 


344 


SALMAGUNDI 


to personal, and thus often is a friendship of years tram¬ 
pled down by this contemptible enemy, this gigantic 
dwarf of politics, the mongrel issue of groveling ambi¬ 
tion and aspiring ignorance! 

There would be but little harm, indeed, in all this, if 
it ended merely in a broken head; for this might soon be 
healed, and the scar, if any remained, might serve as a 
warning ever after against the indulgence of political 
intemperance; at the worst, the loss of such heads as 
these would be a gain to the nation. But the evil ex¬ 
tends far deeper; it threatens to impair all social inter¬ 
course, and even to sever the sacred union of family and 
kindred. The convivial table is disturbed; the cheerful 
fireside is invaded; the smile of social hilarity is chased 
away; the bond of social love is broken by the everlast¬ 
ing intrusion of this fiend of contention, who lurks in the 
sparkling bowl, crouches by the fireside, in the friendly 
circle, infests every avenue to pleasure; and, like the 
scowling incubus, sits on the bosom of society, pressing 
down and smothering every throb and pulsation of libera] 
philanthropy. 

But thou wilt perhaps ask, “What can these people 
dispute about ? One would suppose that, being all free 
and equal, they would harmonize as brothers; children 
of the same parent, and equal heirs of the same inheri¬ 
tance.” This theory is most exquisite, my good friend, 
but in practice it turns out the very dream of a madman. 
Equality, Asem, is one of the most consummate scoun- 


EQUALITY. 


345 


drels that ever crept from the brain of a political juggler 
— -a fellow who thrusts his hand into the pocket of hon¬ 
est industry, or enterprising talent, and squanders their 
hard-earned profits on profligate idleness or indolent 
stupidity. There will always be an inequality among 
mankind so long as a portion of it is enlightened and 
industrious, and the rest idle and ignorant. The one 
will acquire a larger share of wealth, and its attendant 
comforts, refinements, and luxuries of life, and the influ¬ 
ence and power which those will always possess who 
have the greatest ability of administering to the neces¬ 
sities of their fellow creatures. These advantages wil] 
inevitably excite envy; and envy as inevitably begets ill- 
will—hence arises that eternal warfare which the lower 
orders of society are waging against those who have 
raised themselves by their own merits, or have been 
raised by the merits of their ancestors, above the com¬ 
mon level. In a nation possessed of quick feelings and 
impetuous passions, the hostility might engender deadly 
broils and bloody commotions; but here it merely vents 
itself in high-sounding words, which lead to continual 
breaches of decorum, or in the insidious assassination of 
character, and a restless propensity among the base to 
blacken every reputation which is fairer than their own. 

I cannot help smiling, sometimes, to see the solicitude 
with which the people of America, so called from the 
country having been first discovered by Christopher Co¬ 
lumbus, battle about them when any election takes place, 


346 


SALMAGUNDI. 


as if they had the least concern in the matter, or were 
to be benefited by an exchange of bashaws; they really 
seem ignorant that none but the bashaws and their de¬ 
pendents are at all interested in the event; and that the 
people at large will not find their situation altered in the 
least. I formerly gave thee an account of an election 
which took place under my eye. The result has been 
that the people, as some of the slangwhangers say, have 
obtained a glorious triumph, which, however, is flatly 
denied by the opposite slangwhangers, who insist that 
their party is composed of the true sovereign people; 
and that the others are all jacobins, Frenchmen, and 
Irish rebels. I ought to apprise thee that the last is 
a term of great reproach here; which, perhaps, thou 
wouldst not otherwise imagine, considering that it is 
not many years since this very people were engaged in 
a revolution; the failure of which would have subjected 
them to the same ignominious epithet, and a participa¬ 
tion in which is now the highest recommendation to 
public confidence. By Mahomet, but it cannot be denied 
that the consistency of this people, like everything else 
appertaining to them, is on a prodigious great scale! To 
return, however, to the event of the election. The peo¬ 
ple triumphed; and much good has it done them. I, for 
P^^t, expected to see wonderful changes, and most 
magical metamorphoses. I expected to see the people 
all rich, that they would be all gentleman bashaws, rid- 
ing in their coaches and faring sumptuously every day, 


A SWELL FISH. 


347 


emancipated from toil, and reveling in luxurious ease. 
Wilt thou credit me, Asem, when I declare unto thee, 
that everything remains exactly in the same state it was 
before the last wordy campaign ? except a few noisy re¬ 
tainers who have crept into office, and a few noisy pa¬ 
triots, on the other side, who have beeu kicked out, there 
is not the least difference. The laborer toils for his daily 
support; the beggar still lives on the charity of those 
who have any charity to bestow; and the only solid satis¬ 
faction the multitude have reaped is, that they have got 
a new governor, or bashaw, whom they will praise, idol¬ 
ize, and exalt for a while, and afterward, notwithstanding 
the sterling merits he really possesses, in compliance 
with immemorial custom, they will abuse, calumniate, 
and trample him under foot. 

Such, my dear Asem, is the way in which the wise 
people of “ the most enlightened country under the sun,” 
are amused with straws, and puffed up with mighty con¬ 
ceits ; like a certain fish I have seen here, which, having 
his belly tickled for a short time, will swell and puff 
himself up to twice his usual size, and become a mere 
bladder of wind and vanity. 

The blessing of a true Mussulman light on thee, good 
Asem; ever, while thou livest, be true to thy prophet; 
and reijoice that, though the boasting political chatterers 
of this logocracy cast upon thy countrymen the igno¬ 
minious epithet of slaves, thou livest in a country where 
the people, instead of being at the mercy of a tyrant with 


348 


SALMAGUNDI. 


a million of heads, have nothing to do but submit to the 


will of a bashaw of only three tails. 

Ever thine, 

Mustapha. 


COCKLOFT HALL. 


BY LAUNCELOT LANGSTAFF, ESQ. 


HOSE who pass their time immured in the smoke of 



the city, amid the rattling of carts, the brawling of 
the multitude, and the variety of discordant sounds that 
prey insensibly upon the nerves, and beget a weariness 
of the spirits, can alone understand and feel that expan¬ 
sion of the heart, that physical renovation which a citi¬ 
zen experiences when he steals forth from his dusty 
prison, to breathe the free air of heaven, and enjoy the 
clear face of nature. Who that has rambled by the side 
of one of our majestic rivers, at the hour of sunset, when 
the wildly romantic scenery around is softened and tinted 
by the voluptuous mist of evening; when the bold and 
swelling outlines of the distant mountain seem melting 
into the glowing horizon, and a rich mantle of refulgence 
is thrown over the whole expanse of the heavens, but 
must have felt how abundant is nature in sources of purC 
enjoyment; how luxuriant in all that can enliven the 
senses or delight the imagination. The jocund zephyr, 
full freighted with native fragrance, sues sweetly to the 



REFLECTIONS. 


349 


senses; the chirping of the thousand varieties of insects 
with which our woodlands abound forms a concert of 
simple melody; even the barking of the farm aog, the 
lowing of the cattle, the tinkling of their bells, and the 
strokes of the woodman’s axe from the opposite shore, 
seem to partake of the softness of the scene, and fall 
tunefully upon the ear; while the voice of the villager, 
chanting some rustic ballad, swells from a distance, in 
the semblance of the very music of harmonious love. 

At such times I am conscious of the influence of na¬ 
ture upon the heart; a hallowed calm is diffused over 
my senses; I cast my eyes around, and every object is 
serene, simple, and beautiful; no warring passion, no 
discordant string, there vibrates to the touch of ambi¬ 
tion, self-interest, hatred, or revenge ; I am at peace with 
the whole world, and hail all mankind as friends and 
brothers. Blissful moments ! ye recall the careless days 
of my boyhood, when mere existence was happiness, 
when hope was certainty, this world a paradise, and 
every woman a ministering angel! Surely man was 
designed for a tenant of the universe, instead of being 
pent up in these dismal cages, these dens of strife, dis¬ 
ease, and discord. We were created to range the fields, 
to sport among the groves, to build castles in the air, 
and have every one of them realized! 

A whole legion of reflections like these insinuated 
themselves into my mind, and stole me from the in¬ 
fluence of the cold realities before me, as I took my 


350 


SALMAGUNDI. 


accustomed walk a few weeks since on the Battery 
Here, watching the splendid mutations of one of our 
summer skies, which emulated the boasted glories of an 
Italian sunset, I all at once discovered that it was but 
pack up my portmanteau, bid adieu for awhile to my 
elbow-chair, and in a little time I should be transported 
from the region of smoke, and noise, and dust, to the 
enjoyment of a far sweeter prospect and a brighter sky. 
The next morning I was off full tilt to Cockloft Hall, 
leaving my man Pompey to follow at his leisure with my 
baggage. I love to indulge in rapid transitions, which 
are prompted by the quick impulse of the moment; ’tis 
the only mode of guarding against that intruding and 
deadly foe to all parties of pleasure—anticipation. 

Having now made good my retreat until the black 
frosts commence, it is but a piece of civility due to my 
readers, who I trust are, ere this, my friends, to give 
them a proper introduction to my present residence. I 
do this as much to gratify them as myself; well knowing 
a reader is always anxious to learn how his author is 
lodged, whether in a garret, a cellar, a hovel, or a palace; 
at least an author is generally vain enough to think so ; 
and an author’s vanity ought sometimes to be gratified. 
Poor devil! it is often the only gratification he ever 
tastes in this world ! 

Cockloft Hall is the country residence of the family, 
or rather the paternal mansion; which, like the mother 
country, sends forth whole colonies to people the face of 


COCKLOFT HALL. 


351 


the earth. Pindar whimsically denominates it the family 
hive! and there is at least as much truth as humor in 
my cousin’s epithet; for many a swarm has it produced. 
I don’t recollect whether I have at any time mentioned 
to my readers, for I seldom look back on what I have 
written, that the fertility of the Cocklofts is proverbial. 
The female members of the family are most incredibly 
fruitful; and to use a favorite phrase of old Cockloft, 
who is excessively addicted to backgammon, they seldom 
fail “to throw doublets every time.” I myself have 
known three or four very industrious young men re¬ 
duced to great extremities by some of these capital 
breeders ; Heaven smiled upon their union, and enriched 
them with a numerous and hopeful offspring, who eat 
them out of doors. 

But to return to the Hall. It is pleasantly situated on 
the banks of a sweet pastoral stream; not so near town 
as to invite an inundation of idle acquaintance, who 
come to lounge away an afternoon, nor so distant as to 
render it an absolute deed of charity or friendship to 
perform the journey. It is one of the oldest habitations 
in the country, and was built by my cousin Christopher’s 
grandfather, who was also mine by the mother’s side, in 
his latter days, to form, as the old gentleman expressed 
himself, “ a snug retreat, where he meant to sit himself 
down in his old days, and be comfortable for the rest of 
his life.” He was at this time a few years over four¬ 
score ; but this was a common saying of his, with which 


352 


SALMAGUNDI. 


he usually closed his airy speculaaons. One would have 
thought, from the long vista of years through which he 
contemplated many of his projects, that the good man 
had forgot the age of the patriarchs had long since gone 
by, and calculated living a century longer at least. He 
was for a considerable time in doubt, on the question of 
roofing his house with shingles or slates : shingles would 
not last above thirty years ! but then they were much 
cheaper than slates. He settled the matter by a kind of 
compromise, and determined to build with shingles first; 
“ and when they are worn out,” said the old gentleman, 
triumphantly, “’twill be time enough to replace them 
with more durable materials! ” But his contemplated 
improvements surpassed everything; and scarcely had 
he a roof over his head when he discovered a thousand 
things to be arranged before he could “ sit down com¬ 
fortably.” In the first place, every tree and bush on the 
place was cut down or grubbed up by the roots, because 
they were not placed to his mind; and a vast quantity of 
oaks, chestnuts, and elms, set out in clumps, and rows, 
and labyrinths, which, he observed, in about five-and- 
twenty or thirty years at most, would yield a very toler¬ 
able shade, and, moreover, would shut out all the sur¬ 
rounding country; for he was determined, he said, to 
have all his views on his own land, and be beholden to 
no man for a prospect. This, my learned readers will 
perceive, was something very like the idea of Lorenzo de 
Medici, who gave as a reason for preferring one of his 


THE FISH-POND. 


353 


seats above all the others, “that all the ground within 
view of it was his own; ” now, whether my grandfather 
ever heard of the Medici is more than I can say; I 
rather think, however, from the characteristic originality 
of the Cocklofts, that it was a whimwham of his own 
begetting. Another odd notion of the old gentleman was 
to blow up a large bed of rocks for the purpose of having 
a fish-pond, although the river ran at about one hundred 
yards’ distance from the house, and was well stored with 
fish; but there was nothing, he said, like having things 
to one’s self. So at it he went, with all the ardor of a 
projector who has just hit upon some splendid and use¬ 
less whimwham. As he proceeded, his views enlarged; 
he would have a summer-house built on the margin of 
the fish-pond; he w^ould have it surrounded with elms 
and willows; and he would have a cellar dug under it, 
for some incomprehensible purpose, which remains a 
secret to this day.* “ In a few years,” he observed, “ it 

* The writer of the reminiscence, whom we have already cited in the 
previous mention of Cockloft Hall, Mr. W. A. ’WTiitehead of Newark, de¬ 
scribes the recent condition of the summer-house. “ The old man,” who 
serves the purpose of the narrator, “sighed and turned away his head, 
while he led the way to a small building standing not far from the river’s 
brink, and near an artificial basin or pond, into which, as the tide was 
full, the Passaic was pouring some of its surplus waters through a narrow 
sluice. It was octagonal in shape, about eighteen feet in diameter, con¬ 
taining only one apartment, with a door facing the river on the east, and 
having windows 0}>ening toward each of the other three cardinal points. 
It was built of stone, and had been originally weather-boarded, although 
most of the boards had fallen off. It had evidently been constructed 
with great care, being fully plastered within and papertni, having an on 

23 


354 


SALMAGUNDI. 


would be a delightful piece of wood and water, where he 
might ramble on a summer’s noon, smoke his pipe, and 
enjoy himself in his old days ; ” thrice honest old soul! 
—he died of an apoplexy in his ninetieth year, just as he 
had begun to blow up the fish-pond. 

Let no one ridicule the whimwhams of my grand¬ 
father. If—and of this there is no doubt, for wise men 


namental cornice and chair-board, an arched doorway, and cut stone 
steps : all indicating a fastidiousness of finish not ordinarily found else¬ 
where than in dwellings ; but it was far gone toward utter ruin, the win¬ 
dow sashes being all out, the door gone, and the mutilated wood-work 
showing it to be the resort only of the idle and the vicious. On looking 
to my companion for an explanation, he said :— 

“‘This, sir, was the Cockloft summer-house, and this the fish-pond 
which Irving mentions when giving the portrait of the old proprietor. 
You may remember the passage, “an odd notion of the old gentleman 
was to blow up a large bed of rocks for the purpose of having a fish¬ 
pond, although the river ran at about one hundred yards’ distance from 
the house, and was well stored with fish; but there was nothing, he said, 
like having things to one’s self. And he would have a summer-house built 
on the margin of the fish-pond; he would have it surrounded with elms 
and willows ; and he would have a cellar dug under it, for some incom¬ 
prehensible purpose, which remains a secret to this day.” As I remem¬ 
ber it, in the days of youth,’ continued my aged friend, ‘ with its window- 
seats and lockers, I think it requires no “Will Wizard” to solve the 
mystery of the cellar, but that there the bottles were kept that were wont 
to surrender their exhilarating contents at the summons of the occupants 
of the comfortable apartment above.’ 

“ As I commented on the peculiar position of the building, my com¬ 
panion remarked :— 

“ ‘ Here, too, you see an illustration of a peculiarity of the elder “ Cock¬ 
loft.” “He was determined,” says Irving, “to have all his views on his 
own land, and be beholden to no man for a prospect.” So he placed, you 
see, the door of his summer-house on the side toward the water, while the 
windows all look inland.’ ” 


ANCIENT FURNITURE. 


355 


have said it—if life be but a dream, happy is he who can 
make the most of the illusion. 

Since my grandfather’s death the Hall has passed 
through the hands of a succession of true old cavaliers, 
like himself, who gloried in observing the golden rules 
of hospitality; which, according to the Cockloft prin¬ 
ciple, consists in giving a guest the freedom of the house, 
cramming him with beef and pudding, and, if possible, 
laying him under the table with prime port, claret, or 
London Particular. The mansion appears to have been 
consecrated to the jolly god, and teems with monuments 
sacred to conviviality. Every chest of drawers, clothes^ 
press, and cabinet is decorated with enormous China 
punch-bowls, which Mrs. Cockloft has paraded with 
much ostentation, particularly in her favorite red damask 
bed-chamber, in which a projector might, with great sat¬ 
isfaction, practice his experiments on fleets, diving-bells, 
and submarine boats. 

I have before mentioned Cousin Christopher’s pro¬ 
found veneration for antique furniture; in consequence 
of which the old hall is furnished in much the same 
style with the house in town. Old-fashioned bedsteads, 
with high testers; massy clothes-presses, standing most 
majestically on eagles’ claws, and ornamented with a 
profusion of shining brass handles, clasps, and hinges; 
and around the grand parlor are solemnly arranged a 
set of high-backed, leather-bottomed, massy mahogany 
chairs^ that always remind me of the formal, long-waisted 


356 


SALMAGTTNBL 


belles who flourished in stays and buckram about the 
time they were in fashion. 

If I may judge from their height, it was not the fash¬ 
ion for gentlemen in those days to loll over the back of a 
lady’s chair, and whisper in her ear what—might be as 
well spoken aloud; at least, they must have been Pata¬ 
gonians to have effected it. Will Wizard declares that 
he saw a little fat German gallant attempt once to 
whisper Miss Barbara Cockloft in this manner; but 
being unluckily caught by the chin, he dangled and 
kicked about for half a minute before he could find terra 
jirma —but Will is much addicted to hyperbole, by rea¬ 
son of his having been a great traveller. 

But what the Cocklofts most especially pride them¬ 
selves upon, is the possession of several family por¬ 
traits, which exhibit as honest a set of square, portly, 
well-fed looking gentlemen and gentlewomen as ever 
grew and flourished under the pencil of a Dutch painter. 
Old Christopher, who is a complete genealogist, has a 
story to tell of each, and dilates with copious eloquence 
on the great services of the general in large sleeves, dur¬ 
ing the old French war; and on the piety of the lady in 
blue velvet, who so attentively peruses her book, and 
was once so celebrated for a beautiful arm; but, much 
as I reverence my illustrious ancestors, I find little to 
admire in their biography, except my cousin’s excellent 
memory; which is most provokingly retentive of every 
uninteresting particular. 


UNCLE JOHN’S ROOM. 


357 


My allotted chamber in the Hall is the same that was 
occupied in days of yore by my honored uncle John. 
The room exhibits many memorials which recall to my 
remembrance the solid excellence and amiable eccentrici¬ 
ties of that gallant old lad. Over the mantel-piece hangs 
the portrait of a young lady dressed in a flaring, long- 
waisted, blue silk gown; be-flowered, and be-furbelowed, 
and be-cuffed, in a most abundant manner; she holds in 
one hand a book, which she very complaisantly neglects, 
to turn and smile on the spectator; in the other a flower, 
which I hope, for the honor of Dame Nature, was the 
sole production of the painter’s imagination; and a little 
behind her is something tied to a blue ribbon, but 
whether a little dog, a monkey, or a pigeon, must be left 
to the judgment of future commentators. This little 
damsel, tradition says, was my uncle John’s third flame; 
and he would infallibly have run away with her, could he 
have persuaded her into the measure; but at that time 
ladies were not quite so easily run away with as Colum¬ 
bine ; and my uncle, failing in the point, took a lucky 
thought, and with great gallantry ran off with her pic¬ 
ture, which he conveyed in triumph to Cockloft Hall, 
and hung up in his bed-chamber as a monument of his 
enterprising spirit. The old gentleman prided himself 
mightily on this chivalric maneuver; always chuckled, 
and pulled up his stock when he contemplated the pic¬ 
ture, and never related the exploit without winding up 
with—“I might, indeed, have carried off the original, 


358 


SALMAGUNDI. 


had I chose to dangle a little longer after her chariot- 
wheels ; for, to do the girl justice, I believe she had a 
liking for me; but I always scorned to coax, my boy— 
always—’twas my way.” My uncle John was of a happy 
temperament; I would give half I am worth for his talent 
at self-consolation. 

The Miss Cocklofts have made several spirited at¬ 
tempts to introduce modern furniture into the Hall, but 
with very indifferent success. Modern style has always 
been an object of great annoyance to honest Christopher, 
and is ever treated by him with sovereign contempt, as 
an upstart intruder. It is a common observation of his, 
that your old-fashioned, substantial furniture bespeaks 
the respectability of one’s ancestors, and indicates that 
the family has been used to hold up its head for more 
than the present generation; whereas the fragile append¬ 
ages of modern style seemed to be emblems of mush¬ 
room gentility, and, to his mind, predicted that the 
family dignity will moulder away and vanish with its 
transient finery. The same whimwham makes him 
averse to having his house surrounded with poplars; 
which he stigmatizes as mere upstarts, just fit to orna¬ 
ment the shingle palaces of modern gentry, and charac¬ 
teristic of the establishments they decorate. Indeed, so 
far does he carry his veneration for antique trumpery, 
that he can scarcely see the dust brushed from its rest¬ 
ing-place on the old-fashioned testers, or a gray-bearded 
spider dislodged from its ancient inheritance, without 


A TREE. 


359 


groaning: and I once saw him in a transport of passion 
on Jeremy’s knocking down a mouldering martin-coop 
with his tennis-ball, which had been set up in the latter 
days of my grandfather. Another object of his peculiar 
affection is an old English cherry-tree, which leans 
against the corner of the Hall; and whether the house 
supports it, or it supports the house, would be, I believe, 
a question of some difficulty to decide. It is held sacred 
by friend Christopher because he planted and reared it 
himself, and had once well-nigh broken his neck by a fall 
from one of its branches. This is one of his favorite 
stories, and there is reason to believe, that if the tree 
was out of the way, the old gentleman would forget the 
whole affair—which would be a great pity. The old tree 
has long since ceased bearing, and is exceedingly infirm ; 
every tempest robs it of a limb ; and one would suppose 
from the lamentations of my old friend, on such occasions, 
that he had lost one of his own. He often contemplates it 
in a half-melancholy, half-moralizing humor—“ together,” 
he says, “ have we flourished, and together shall we wither 
away; a few years, and both our heads will be laid low, 
and, perhaps, my mouldering bones may, one day or other, 
mingle with the dust of the tree I have planted.” He 
often fancies, he says, that it rejoices to see him when 
he revisits the Hall, and that its leaves assume a brighter 
verdure, as if to welcome his arrival. How whimsically 
are our tenderest feelings assailed I At one time the old 
tree had obtruded a withered branch before Miss Bar- 


360 


SALMAGUNDI. 


bara’s window, and she desired her father to order the 
gardener to saw it off. I shall never forget the old man’s 
answer, and the look that accompanied it. “What,” 
cried he, “ lop off the limbs of my cherry-tree in its old 
age ? Why do you not cut off the gray locks of your poor 
old father?” 

Do my readers yawn at this long family detail ? They 
are welcome to throw down our work, and never resume 
it again. I have no care for such ungratified spirits, and 
will not throw away a thought on one of them. Full 
often have I contributed to their amusement, and have 
not I a right, for once, to consult my own ? Who is 
there that does not fondly turn, at times, to linger round 
those scenes which were once the haunt of his boyhood, 
ere his heart grew heavy and his head waxed gray; and 
to dwell with fond affection on the friends who have 
twined themselves round his heart—mingled in all his 
enjoyments—contributed to all his felicities? If there 
be any who cannot relish these enjoyments, let them de¬ 
spair ; for they have been so soiled in their intercourse 
with the world, as to be incapable of tasting some of 
the purest pleasures that survive the happy period of 
youth. 

To such as have not yet lost the rural feeling, I ad¬ 
dress this simple family picture; and in the honest sin¬ 
cerity of a warm heart, I invite them to turn aside from 
bustle, care, and toil, to tarry with me for a season, in 
the hospitable mansion of the Cocklofts. 


THEATRICALS IN DISTRESS. 


361 


[I was really apprehensive, on reading the following 
effusion of Will Wizard, that he still retained that pesti¬ 
lent hankering after puns of which we lately convicted 
him. He, however, declares that he is fully authorized 
by the example of the most popular critics and wits 
of the present age, whose manner and matter he has 
closely, and he flatters himself successfully, copied in 
the subsequent essay.] 


THEATRICAL INTELLIGENCE. 


BY WILLIAM WIZARD, ESQ. 


HE uncommon healthiness of the season, occasioned, 



as several learned physicians assure me, by the uni¬ 
versal prevalence of the influenza, has encouraged the 
chieftain of our dramatic corps to marshal his forces, and 
to commence the campaign at a much earlier day than 
usual. He has been induced to take the field thus sud¬ 
denly, I am told, by the invasion of certain foreign ma¬ 
rauders, who pitched their tents at Vauxhall Garden 
during the warm months; and taking advantage of his 
army being disbanded and dispersed in summer quar¬ 
ters, committed sad depredations upon the borders of 
his territories, carrying off a considerable portion of his 
winter harvest, and murdering some of his most distin¬ 
guished characters. 



362 


SALMAGUNDI. 


It is true, these hardy invaders have been reduced to 
great extremity by the late heavy rains, which injured 
and destroyed much of their camp equipage, besides 
spoiling the best part of their wardrobe. Two cities, a 
triumphal car, and a new moon for Cinderella, together 
with the barber’s boy who was employed every night to 
powder and make it shine white, have been entirely 
washed away, and the sea has become very wet and 
mouldy; insomuch that great apprehensions are enter- 
tained that it will never be dry enough for use. Add to 
this, the noble County Paris had the misfortune to tear 
his corduroy breeches, in the scuffle with Romeo, by 
reason of the tomb being very wet, which occasioned him 
to slip; and he and his noble rival possessing but one 
pair of satin ones between them, were reduced to con¬ 
siderable shifts to keep up the dignity of their respec¬ 
tive houses. In spite of these disadvantages, and the 
untoward circumstances, they continued to enact most 
intrepidly; performing with much ease and confidence, 
inasmuch as they were seldom pestered with an audience 
m criticise and put them out of countenance. It is 
rumored that the last heavy shower absolutely dissolved 
the company, and that our manager has nothing further 
to apprehend from that quarter. 

The theatre opened on Wednesday last, with great 
eclat, as we critics say, and almost vied in brilliancy 
with that of my superb friend Consequa in Canton, where 
the castles were all ivory, the sea mother of pearl, the 


8 UPEEJ^JJMEEAIilES. 


363 


skies gold and silver leaf, and the outside of the boxes 
inlaid with scollop shell-work. Those who want a better 
description of the theatre, may as well go and see it, 
and then they can judge for themselves. For the gratifi¬ 
cation of a highly respectable class of readers, who love 
to see everything on paper, I had indeed prepared a cir¬ 
cumstantial and truly incomprehensible account of it, 
such as your traveller always fills his book with, and 
which I defy the most intelligent architect, even the 
great Sir Christopher Wren to understand. I had jum¬ 
bled cornices, and pilasters, and pillars, and capitals, and 
and modules, and plinths, and volutes, and per¬ 
spectives, and fore-shortenings, helter-skelter; and had 
set all the orders of architecture, Doric, Ionic, Corin¬ 
thian, etc., together by the ears, in order to work out a 
satisfactory description; but the manager having sent 
me a polite note requesting that I would not take off the 
sharp edge, as he whimsically expressed it, of public cu¬ 
riosity, thereby diminishing the receipts of his house, I 
have willingly consented to oblige him, and have left my 
description at the store of our publisher, where any per¬ 
son may see it—provided he applies at a proper hour. 

I cannot refrain here from giving vent to the satisfac¬ 
tion I received from the excellent performances of the 
different actors, one and all; and particularly the gentle¬ 
men who shifted the scenes, who acquitted themselves 
throughout with great celerity, dignity, pathos, and ef¬ 
fect. Nor must I pass over the peculiar merits of my 


364 


8ALMA0UNDI. 


friend John, who gallanted off the chairs and tables in 
the most dignified and circumspect manner. Indeed, I 
have had frequent occasion to applaud the correctness 
with which this gentleman fulfills the parts allotted him, 
and consider him as one of the best general performers 
in the company. My friend, the cockney, found consid¬ 
erable fault with the manner in which John shoved a 
huge rock from behind the scenes; maintaining that he 
should have put his left foot forward, and pushed it with 
his right hand, that being the method practiced by his 
contemporaries of the royal theatres, and universally ap¬ 
proved by their best critics. He also took exception to 
John’s coat, which he pronounced too short by a foot at 
least, particularly when he turned his back to the com¬ 
pany. But I look upon these objections in the same 
light as new readings, and insist that John shall be al¬ 
lowed to maneuver his chairs and tables, shove his rocks, 
and wear his skirts in that style which his genius best 
affects. My hopes in the rising merits of this favorite 
actor daily increase; and I would hint to the manager 
the propriety of giving him a benefit, advertising in the 
usual style of playbills, as a ** springe to catch wood¬ 
cocks,” that between the play and farce, John will make 
a bow—for that night only! 

I am told that no pains have been spared to make the 
exhibitions of this season as splendid as possible. Sev¬ 
eral expert rat-catchers have been sent into different 
parts of the country to catch white mice for the grand 


FURTHER IMPROVEMENTS. 


365 


pantomime of “ Cinderella.” A nest full of little squab 
Cupids have been taken in the neighborhood of Com- 
munipaw; they are as yet but half fledged, of the true 
Holland breed, and it is hoped will be able to fly about 
by the middle of October; otherwise they will be sus¬ 
pended about the stage by the waistband, like little alli¬ 
gators in an apothecary’s shop, as the pantomime must 
positively be performed by that time. Great pains and 
expense have been incurred in the importation of one 
of the most portly pumpkins in New England; and the 
public may be assured there is now one on board a vessel 
from New Haven, which will contain Cinderella’s coach 
and six with perfect ease, were the white mice even ten 
times as large. 

Also several barrels of hail, rain, brimstone, and gun¬ 
powder, are in store for melodramas, of which a number 
are to be played off this winter. It is furthermore whis¬ 
pered me that the great thunder drum has been new 
braced, and an expert performer on that instrument en¬ 
gaged, who will thunder in plain English, so as to be 
understood by the most illiterate hearer. This will be 
infinitely preferable to the miserable Italian thunderer, 
employed last winter by Mr. Ciceri, who performed in 
such an unnatural and outlandish tongue, that none but 
the scholars of Signor Da Ponte could understand him. 
It will be a further gratification to the patriotic audience 
to know that the present thunderer is a fellow-country¬ 
man, born at Dunderberg, among the echoes of the High- 


366 


SALMAGUNDI. 


lands, and that he thunders with peculiar emphasis and 
pompous enunciation, in the true style of a Fourth of 
July orator. 

In addition to all these additions, the manager has 
provided an entire new snow-storm, the very sight of 
which will be quite sufficient to draw a shawl over every 
naked bosom in the theatre; the snow is perfectly fresh, 
having been manufactured last August. 

N.B. The outside of the theatre has been ornamented 
with a new chimney! 1 


NO. XV.—THIJESDAT, OCTOBEE 1, 1807. 


SKETCHES FROM NATURE. 


BY ANTHONY EVERGREEN, GENT. 


HE brisk northwesters, which prevailed not 
long since, had a powerful effect in arresting 
the progress of belles, beaux, and wild pigeons 
in their fashionable northern tour, and turning them 
back to the more balmy region of the south. Among the 
rest, I was encountered, full butt, by a blast which set 
my teeth chattering, just as I doubled one of the frown¬ 
ing bluffs of the Mohaw^k Mountains, in my route to 
Niagara, and facing about incontinently, I forthwith scud 
before the wind, and a few days since arrived at my old 
quarters in New York. My first care, on returning from 
so long an absence, was to visit the worthy family of the 
Cocklofts, whom I found safe burrowed in their country 
mansion. On inquiring for my highly respected coad¬ 
jutor, Langstaff, I learned, with great concern, that he 
had relapsed into one of his eccentric fits of the spleen, 
ever since the era of a turtle dinner given by old Cock¬ 
loft to some of the neighboring squires, wherein the old 

367 









368 


8ALMAGUNBL 


gentleman had achieved a glorious victory in laying hon¬ 
est Launcelot fairly under the table. Langstaff, althougn 
fond of the social board and cheerful glass, yet abomi¬ 
nates any excess, and has an invincible aversion to get¬ 
ting mellow, considering it a willful outrage on the sanc¬ 
tity of the imperial mind, a senseless abuse of the body, 
and an unpardonable, because a voluntary, prostration 
of both mental and personal dignity. I have heard him 
moralize on the subject, in a style that would do honor 
to Michael Cassio himself; but I believe, if the truth 
were known, this antipathy rather rises from his having, 
as the phrase is, but a weak head, and nerves so ex¬ 
tremely sensitive, that he is sure to suffer severely from 
a frolic, and will groan and make resolutions against it 
for a week afterward. He therefore took this waggish 
exploit of old Christopher’s, and the consequent quizzing 
which he underwent, in high dudgeon; had kept aloof 
from company for a fortnight, and appeared to be medi¬ 
tating some deep plan of retaliation upon his mischiev¬ 
ous old crony. He had, however, for the last day or two, 
shown some symptoms of convalescence: had listened, 
without more than half a dozen twitches of impatience, 
to one of Christopher’s unconscionable long stories, and 
even was seen to smile, for the one hundred and thirtieth 
time, at a venerable joke originally borrowed from Joe 
Miller, but which, by dint of long occupancy, and fre¬ 
quent repetition, the old gentleman now firmlv believes 
happened to himself somewhere in New England. 


SENTIMENTAL. 


369 


As I am well acquainted with Launcelot’s haunts, I 
soon found him out. He was lolling on his favorite 
bench, rudely constructed at the foot of an old tree, 
which is full of fantastical twists, and with its spreading 
branches forms a canopy of luxuriant foliage. This tree 
is a kind of chronicle of the short reigns of his uncle 
John’s mistresses ; and its trunk is sorely wounded with 
carvings of true lovers’ knots, hearts, darts, names, and 
inscriptions!—frail memorials of the variety of the fair 
dames who captivated the wandering fancy of that old 
cavalier in the days of his youthful romance. Launcelot 
holds this tree in particular regard, as he does every¬ 
thing else connected with the memory of his good uncle 
John. He was reclining, in one of his usual brown 
studies, against its trunk, and gazing pensively upon the 
river that glided just by, washing the drooping branches 
of the dwarf willows that fringed its bank. My appear¬ 
ance roused him; he grasped my hand with his usual 
warmth, and with a tremulous but close pressure, which 
spoke that his heart entered into the salutation. After a 
number of affectionate inquiries and felicitations, such 
as friendship, not form, dictated, he seemed to relapse 
into his former flow of thought, and to resume the chain 
of ideas my appearance had broken for a moment. 

“ I was reflecting,” said he, “ my dear Anthony, upon 
some observations I made in our last number; and con¬ 
sidering whether the sight of objects once dear to the 
affections, or of scenes where we have passed different 
24 


370 


SALMAGUNDI. 


happy periods of early life, really occasions most enjoy¬ 
ment or most regret. Renewing our acquaintance with 
well-known and long separated objects, revives, it is 
true, the recollection of former pleasures, and touches 
the tenderest feelings of the heart; as the flavor of a 
delicious beverage will remain upon the palate long after 
the cup has parted from the lips. But on the other 
hand, my friend, these same objects are too apt to 
awaken us to a keener recollection of what we were, 
when they once delighted us; and to provoke a mortify¬ 
ing and melancholy contrast with what we are at present. 
They act, in a manner, as milestones of existence, show¬ 
ing us how far we have travelled in the journey of life— 
how much of our weary but fascinating pilgrimage is 
accomplished. I look round me, and my eye fondly 
recognizes the fields I once sported over, the river in 
which I once swam, and the orchard I intrepidly robbed 
in the halcyon days of boyhood. The fields are still 
green, the river still rolls unaltered and undiminished, 
and the orchard is still flourishing and fruitful;—it is I 
only am changed. The thoughtless flow of madcap spir¬ 
its that nothing could depress, the elasticity of nerve 
that enabled me to bound over the field, to stem the 
stream and climb the tree—the * sunshine of the breast' 
that beamed an illusive charm over every object, and 
created a paradise around me—where are they?—the 
thievish lapse of years has stolen them away, and left in 
return nothing but gray hairs, and a repining spirit.” 


AN INTERRUPTION. 


371 


My friend Launcelot concluded his harangue with a sigh, 
and as I saw he was still under the influence of a whole 
legion of the blues, and just on the point of sinking into 
one of his whimsical and unreasonable fits of melancholy 
abstraction, I proposed a walk. He consented, and slip¬ 
ping his left arm in mine, and waving in the other a 
gold-headed thorn cane, bequeathed him by his uncle 
John, we slowly rambled along the margin of the river. 

Langstaff, though possessing great vivacity of temper, 
is most wofully subject to these “ thick coming fancies 
and I do not know a man whose animal spirits do in¬ 
sult him with more jiltings, and coquetries, and slippery 
tricks. In these moods he is often visited by a whim- 
wham which he indulges in common with the Cocklofts. 
It is that of looking back with regret, conjuring up the 
phantoms of good old times, and decking them out in 
imaginary finery, with the spoils of his fancy; like a 
good lady widow, regretting the loss of the “ poor dear 
man; ” for whom, while living, she cared not a rush. I 
have seen him and Pindar, and old Cockloft, amuse 
themselves over a bottle with their youthful days, until 
by the time they had become what is termed merry, they 
were the most miserable beings in existence. In a simi¬ 
lar humor was Launcelot at present, and I knew the only 
way was to let him moralize himself out of it. 

Our ramble was soon interrupted by the appearance of 
a personage of no little importance at Cockloft Hall— 
for, to let my readers into a family secret, friend Chris- 


372 


SALMAGUNDI. 


topher is notoriouslj henpecked by an old negro, who 
has whitened on the place; and is his master, almanac, 
and counselor. My readers, if haply they have sojourned 
in the country and become conversant in rural manners, 
must have observed that there is scarce a little hamlet 
but has one of these old, weather-beaten wiseacres of 
negroes, who ranks among the great characters of the 
place. He is always resorted to as an oracle to resolve 
any question about the weather, fishing, shooting, farm¬ 
ing, and horse-doctoring; and on such occasions will 
slouch his remnant of a hat on one side, fold his arms, 
roll his white eyes, and examine the sky, with a look as 
knowing as Peter Pindar’s magpie when peeping into a 
marrow-bone. Such a sage curmudgeon is old Csesar, 
who acts as friend Cockloft’s prime minister or grand 
vizier; assumes, when abroad, his master’s style and 
title; to wit. Squire Cockloft; and is, in effect, absolute 
lord and ruler of the soil. 

As he passed us, he pulled off his hat with an air of 
something more than respect; it partook, I thought, of 
affection. “ There, now, is another memento of the kind 
I have been noticing,” said Launcelot; “Csesar was a 
bosom friend and chosen playmate of Cousin Pindar and 
myself, when we were boys. Never were we so happy as 
when, stealing away on a holiday to the Hall, we ranged 
about the fields with honest Caesar. He was particularly 
adroit in making our quail-traps and fishing-rods; was 
always the ringleader in all the schemes of frolicsome 


OLD CjESAR. 


373 


mischief perpetrated by the urchins of the neighbor¬ 
hood ; considered himself on an equality with the best of 
us; and many a hard battle have I had with him, about 
the division of the spoils of an orchard, or the title to 
a bird’s nest. Many a summer evening do I remember 
when, huddled together on the steps of the Hall door, 
Csesar, with his stories of ghosts, goblins, and witches, 
would put us all in a panic, and people every lane, and 
church-yard, and solitary wood, with imaginary beings. 
In process of time, he became the constant attendant and 
Man Friday of Cousin Pindar, whenever he went a spark¬ 
ing among the rosy country girls of the neighboring 
farms; and brought up his rear at every rustic dance, 
when he would mingle in the sable group that always 
thronged the door of merriment; and it was enough to 
put to the rout a host of splenetic imps to see his mouth 
gradually dilate from ear to ear, with pride and exulta¬ 
tion, at seeing how neatly Master Pindar footed it over 
the floor. Caesar was likewise the chosen confidant and 
special agent of Pindar in all his love affairs, until, as 
his evil stars would have it, on being intrusted with the 
delivery of a poetic billet-doux to one of his patron’s 
sweethearts, he took an unlucky notion to send it to his 
own sable dulcinea, who, not being able to read it, took 
it to her mistress; and so the whole affair was blown. 
Pindar was universally roasted, and Caesar discharged 
forever from his confidence. 

“ Poor Caesar!—he has now grown old, like his young 


374 


SALMAGUNDI. 


masters, but he still remembers old times; and will, now 
and then, remind me of them as he lights me to my room, 
and lingers a little while to bid me a good-night. Believe 
me, my dear Evergreen, the honest, simple old creature 
has a warm corner in my heart; I don’t see, for my part, 
why a body may not like a negro as well as a white 
man! ” 

By the time these biographical anecdotes were ended 
we had reached the stable, into which we had involun¬ 
tarily strolled, and found Caesar busily employed in rub¬ 
bing down the horses; an oiBSce he would not intrust to 
anybody else, having contracted an affection for every 
beast in the stable, from their being descendants of the 
old race of animals, his youthful contemporaries. Caesar 
was very particular in giving us their pedigrees, together 
with a panegyric on the swiftness, bottom, blood, and 
spirit of their sires. From these he digressed into a 
variety of anecdotes in which Launcelot bore a conspicu¬ 
ous part, and on which the old negro dwelt with all the 
garrulity of age. Honest Langstaff stood leaning with 
nis arm over the back of his favorite steed, old Kill- 
deer ; and I could perceive he listened to Caesar’s sim¬ 
ple details with that fond attention with which a feeling 
mind will hang over narratives of boyish days. His eye 
sparkled with animation, a glow of youthful fire stole 
across his pale visage; he nodded with smiling appro¬ 
bation at every sentence ; chuckled at every exploit; 
laughed heartily at the story of his once having smoked 


HAPPY BEINGS. 


375 


ont a country singing-school with brimstone and assa- 
fcetida; and slipping a piece of money into old Caesar’s 
hand to buy himself a new tobacco-box, he seized me by 
the arm and hurried out of the stable, brimful of good¬ 
nature. “ Tis a pestilent old rogue for talking, my dear 
fellow, cried he, “ but you must not find fault with him 
—the creature means well.” I knew, at the very moment 
that he made this apology, honest Caesar could not have 
given him half the satisfaction, had he talked like a Cicero 
or a Solomon. 

Launcelot returned to the house with me in the best 
possible humor—the whole family, who in truth love and 
honor him from their very souls, were delighted to see 
the sunbeams once more play in his countenance. Every 
one seemed to vie who should talk the most, tell the 
longest stories, and be most agreeable ; and Will Wizard, 
who had accompanied me in my visit, declared, as he 
lighted his cigar—which had gone out forty times in the 
course of one of his oriental tales—that he had not passed 
so pleasant an evening since the birthnight ball of the 
beauteous empress of Hayti. 


[The following essay was written by my friend Lang- 
staff, in one of the paroxysms of his splenetic complaint; 
and, for aught I know, may have been effectual in restor¬ 
ing him to good humor. A mental discharge of the kind 
has a remarkable tendency toward sweetening the temper 



376 


8ALMAGUNDL 


—and Laimcelot is, at this moment, one of the best- 
natured men in existence. 


A. Evergbeen.] 


ON GREATNESS. 


BY LAUNCELOT LANGSTAFF, ESQ. 


E have more than once, in the course of onr work, 



' been most jocosely familiar with great personages; 
and, in truth, treated them with as little ceremony, re¬ 
spect, and consideration, as if they had been our most 
particular friends. Now, we would not suffer the morti¬ 
fication of having our readers even suspect us of any inti¬ 
macy of the kind; assuring them we are extremely choice 
in our intimates and uncommonly circumspect in avoid¬ 
ing connections with all doubtful characters; particularly 
pimps, bailiffs, lottery-brokers, chevaliers of industry, 
and great men. The world, in general, is pretty well 
aware of what is to be understood by the former classes 
of delinquents; but as the latter has never, I believe, 
been specifically defined, and as we are determined to 
instruct our readers to the extent of our abilities, and 
their limited comprehension, it may not be amiss here to 
let them know what we understand by a great man. 

First, therefore, let us—editors and kings are always 
plural—premise, that there are two kinds of greatness: 
one conferred by heaven—the exalted nobility of the soul 



0REATNE88. 


377 


^the other, a spurious distinction, engendered hj the 
mob and lavished upon its favorites. The former of 
these distinctions we have already contemplated with 
reverence; the latter, we will take this opportunity to 
strip naked before our unenlightened readers; so that, 
if by chance any of them are held in ignominious thrall- 
dom by this base circulation of false coin, they may 
forthwith emancipate themselves from such inglorious 
delusion. 

It is a fictitious value given to individuals by public 
caprice, as bankers give an impression to a worthless slip 
of paper; thereby gaining it a currency for infinitely 
more than its intrinsic value. Every nation has its pecu¬ 
liar coin, and peculiar great men; neither of which will, 
for the most part, pass current out of the country where 
they are stamped. Your true mob-created great man, is 
like a note of one of the little New England banks, and 
his value depreciates in proportion to the distance from 
home. In England, a great man is he who has most rib¬ 
bons and gewgaws on his coat, most horses to his car¬ 
riage, most slaves in his retinue, or most toad-eaters at 
his table; in France, he who can most dextrously flour¬ 
ish his heels above his head—Duport is most incontes¬ 
tably the greatest man in France!—when the Emperor is 
absent. The greatest man in China, is he who can trace 
his ancestry up to the moon; and in this country, our 
great men may generally hunt down their pedigree until 
it burrow in the dirt like a rabbit. To be concise: our 


378 


SALMAGUNDI, 


great men are those who are most expert at crawling on 
all fours, and have the happiest facility of dragging and 
winding themselves along in the dirt. This may seem a 
paradox to many of my readers, who, with great good 
nature be it hinted, are too stupid to look beyond the 
mere surface of our invaluable writings; and often pass 
over the knowing allusions, and poignant meaning, that 
is slyly couching beneath. It is for the benefit of such 
helpless ignorants, who have no other creed but the 
opinion of the mob, that I shall trace, as far as it is pos¬ 
sible to follow him in his progress from insignificance— 
the rise, progress, and completion of a little great man. 

In a logocracy, to use the sage Mustapha’s phrase, it is 
not absolutely necessary to the formation of a great man 
that he should be either wise or valiant, upright or hon¬ 
orable. On the contrary, daily experience shows, that 
these qualities rather impede his preferment; inasmuch 
as they are prone to render him too inflexibly erect, and 
directly at variance with that willow suppleness which 
enables a man to wind and twist through all the nooks 
and turns and dark winding passages that lead to great¬ 
ness. The grand requisite for climbing the rugged hill 
of popularity—the summit of which is the seat of power 
—is to be useful. And here, once more, for the sake of 
our readers, who are, of course, not so wise as ourselves, 
I must explain what we understand by usefulness. The 
horse, in his native state, is wild, swdft, impetuous, full 
of majesty, and of a most generous spirit. It is then the 


A GREAT MAN. 


379 


animal is noble, exalted, and useless. But entrap him, 
manacle him, cudgel him, break down his lofty spirit, 
put the curb into his mouth, the load upon his back, and 
reduce him into servile obedience to the bridle and the 
lash, and it is then he becomes useful. Your jackass is 
one of the most useful animals in existence. If my 
readers do not now understand what I mean by useful¬ 
ness, I give them all up for most absolute nincoms. 

To rise in this country a man must first descend. The 
aspiring politician may be compared to that indefatigable 
insect, called the tumbler, pronounced by a distinguished 
personage to be the only industrious animal in Virginia, 
which buries itself in filth, and works ignobly in the dirt, 
until it forms a little ball, which it rolls laboriously 
along, like Diogenes in his tub; sometimes head, some¬ 
times tail foremost, pilfering from every rut and mud 
hole, and increasing its ball of greatness by the contri¬ 
butions of the kennel. Just so the candidate for great¬ 
ness ;—he buries himself in the mob; labors in dirt and 
oblivion, and makes unto himself the rudiments of a 
popular name from the admiration and praises of rogues, 
ignoramuses, and blackguards. His name once started, 
onward he goes, struggling and puffing, and pushing it 
before him; collecting new tribute from the dregs and 
offals of society as he proceeds, until having gathered 
together a mighty mass of popularity, he mounts it in 
triumph ; is hoisted into office, and becomes a great man, 
and a ruler in the land. All this will be clearly illus- 


380 


SALMAGUNDI 


trated by a sketch of a worthy of the kind, who sprung 
up under my eye, and was hatched from the dirt by the 
broad rays of popularity, which, like the sun, can “ breed 
maggots in a dead dog.” 

Timothy Dabble was a young man of very promising 
talents; for he wrote a fair hand, and had thrice won 
the silver medal at a country academy; he was also an 
orator, for he talked with emphatic volubility, and could 
argue a full hour, without taking either side, or advanc¬ 
ing a single opinion; he had still further requisites for 
eloquence, for he made very handsome gestures, had 
dimples in his cheeks when he smiled, and enunciated 
most harmoniously through his nose. In short, nature 
had certainly marked him out for a great man; for 
though he was not tall, yet he added at least half an inch 
to his stature by elevating his head, and assumed an 
amazing expression of dignity by turning up his nose 
and curling his nostrils, in a style of conscious superior¬ 
ity. Convinced by these unequivocal appearances, Bab¬ 
ble’s friends, in full caucus, one and all, declared that he 
was undoubtedly born to be a great man, and it would be 
his own fault if he were not one. Dabble was tickled 
with an opinion which coincided so happily with his own 
—for vanity, in a confidential whisper, had given him the 
like intimation—and he reverenced the judgment of his 
friends because they thought so highly of himself. Ac¬ 
cordingly he set out with a determination to become a 
great man, and to start in the scrub-race for honor and 


TIMOTEY BABBLE. 


381 


renown. How to attain the desired prize was, however, 
the question. He knew, by a kind of instinctive feeling, 
which seems peculiar to groveling minds, that honor, and 
its better part—profit, would never seek him out; that 
they would never knock at his door and crave admit¬ 
tance, but must be courted, and toiled after, and earned. 
He therefore strutted forth into the highways, and mar¬ 
ket-places, and the assemblies of the people ; ranted, like 
a true cockerel orator, about virtue, and patriotism, and 
liberty, and equality, and himself. Full many a political 
windmill did he battle with; and full many a time did he 
talk himself out of breath and his hearers out of pa¬ 
tience. But Dabble found, to his vast astonishment, that 
there was not a notorious political pimp at a ward meet¬ 
ing but could out-talk him; and what was still more 
mortifying, there was not a notorious political pimp but 
was more noticed and caressed than himself. The reason 
was simple enough; while he harangued about princi¬ 
ples, the others ranted about men; where he reprobated 
a political error, they blasted a political character. They 
were, consequently, the most useful; for the great object 
of our political disputes is not who shall have the honor 
of emancipating the community from the leading-strings 
of delusion, but who shall have the profit of holding the 
strings and leading the community by the nose. 

Dabble was likewise very loud in his professions of 
integrity, incorruptibility, and disinterestedness; words 
which, from being filtered and refined through news- 


382 


SALMAGUNDI. 


papers and election handbills, have lost their original 
signification, and in the political dictionary are synony* 
mous with empty pockets, itching palms, and interested 
ambition. He, in addition to all this, declared that he 
would support none but honest men; but unluckily, as 
but few of these offered themselves to be supported, 
Babble’s services were seldom required. He pledged 
himself never to engage in party schemes, or party poli¬ 
tics, but to stand up solely for the broad interests of his 
country—so he stood alone; and what is the same thing, 
he stood still; for, in this country, he who does not side 
with either party is like a body in a vacuum between two 
planets, and must forever remain motionless. 

Dabble was immeasurably surprised that a man so 
honest, so disinterested, and so sagacious withal, and 
one, too, who had the good of his country so much at 
heart, should thus remain unnoticed and unapplauded. 
A little worldly advice, whispered in his ear by a shrewd 
old politician, at once explained the whole mystery. 
“ He who would become great,” said he, “ must serve an 
apprenticeship to greatness, and rise by regular grada¬ 
tion, like the master of a vessel, who commences by being 
scrub and cabin-boy. He must fag in the train of great 
men, echo all their sentiments, become their toad-eater 
and parasite—laugh at all their jokes, and, above all, 
endeavor to make them laugh; if you only make a great 
man laugh now and then, your fortune is made. Look 
about you, youngster, and you will not see a single little 


POLITICAL APPRENTICESHIP. 


383 


great man of the day, but his herd of retainers, who 
yelp at his heels, come at his whistle, worry whoever he 
points at, and think themselves fully rewarded by some¬ 
times snapping up a crumb that falls from his table. 
Talk of patriotism, and virtue, and incorruptibility!—tut, 
man! they are the very qualities that scare munificence, 
and keep patronage at a distance. You might as well 
attempt to entice crowds with red rags and gunpowder. 
Lay all these scarecrow virtues aside, and let this be 
your maxim, that a candidate for political eminence is 
like a dried herring; he never becomes luminous until 
he is corrupt.” 

Dabble caught with hungry avidity these congenial 
doctrines, and turned into his predestined channel of 
action with the force and rapidity of a stream which has 
for a while been restrained from its natural course. He 
became what nature had fitted him to be : his tone soft¬ 
ened down from arrogant self-sufficiency to the whine of 
fawning solicitation. He mingled in the caucuses of the 
sovereign people; assumed a patriotic slovenliness of 
dress; argued most logically with those who were of 
his own opinion; and slandered, with all the malice of 
impotence, exalted characters whose orbit he despaired 
ever to approach—just as that scoundrel midnight thief, 
the owl, hoots at the blessed light of the sun, whose 
glorious lustre he dares never contemplate. He likewise 
applied himself to discharging, faithfully, the honorable 
duties of a partisan; he poached about for private slan- 


384 


SALMAGUNDI. 


ders and ribald anecdotes ; he folded handbills ; he even 
wrote one or two himself, which he carried about in his 
pocket and read to everybody; he became secretary at 
ward meetings, set his hand to divers resolutions of 
patriotic import, and even once went so far as to make a 
speech, in which he proved that patriotism was a virtue 
—that the reigning bashaw was a great man—that this 
was a free country, and he himself an arrant and incon¬ 
testable buzzard! 

Dabble was now very frequent and devout in his visits 
to those temples of politics, popularity, and smoke—the 
ward porter-houses; those true dens of equality, where 
all ranks, ages, and talents are brought down to the level 
of rude familiarity. ’Twas here his talents expanded, and 
his genius swelled up to its proper size—like the toad, 
which, shrinking from balmy airs and jocund sunshine, 
finds his congenial home in caves and dungeons, and 
there nourishes his venom and bloats his deformity. 
’Twas here he reveled with the swinish multitude in 
their debauches on patriotism and porter; and it became 
an even chance whether Dabble would turn out a great 
man or a great drunkard. But Dabble in all this kept 
steadily in his eye the only deity he ever worshipped 
—his interest. Having, by this familiarity, ingratiated 
himself with the mob, he became wonderfully potent and 
industrious at elections—knew all the dens and cellars 
of profiigacy and intemperance—brought more negroes to 
the polls, and knew to a greater certainty where votes 


SUCCESSFUL AT LAST 


386 


could be bought for beer, than any of his contemporaries. 
His exertions in the cause, his persevering industry, his 
degrading compliance, his unresisting humility, his stead¬ 
fast dependence, at length caught the attention of one 
of the leaders of the party, who was pleased to observe 
that Dabble was a very useful fellow, who would go all 
lengths. From that moment his fortune was made—he 
was hand and glove with orators and slangwhangers; 
basked in the sunshine of great men’s smiles, and had 
the honor, sundry times, of shaking hands with digni¬ 
taries during elections, and drinking out of the same pot 
with them at a porter-house !! 

I will not fatigue myself with tracing this caterpillar 
in his slimy progress from worm to butterfly: suffice it 
that Dabble bowed and bowed, and fawned, and sneaked, 
and smirked, and libeled, until one would have thought 
perseverance itself w^ould have settled down into despair. 
There was no knowing how long he might have lingered 
at a distance from his hopes, had he not luckily got 
tarred and feathered for some electioneering maneuver. 
This was the making of him ! Let not my readers stare; 
tarring and feathering here is equal to pillory and crop¬ 
ped ears in England; and either of these kinds of mar¬ 
tyrdom will insure a patriot the sympathy and support 
of his faction. His partisans—for even he had his par¬ 
tisans—took his case into consideration. He had been 
kicked, and cuffed, and disgraced, and dishonored in the 
cause ; he had licked the dust at the feet of the mob ; he 
25 


386 


SALMAGUNDI. 


was a faithful drudge, slow to anger, of invincible pa¬ 
tience, of incessant assiduity; a thorough-going tool, who 
could be curbed, and spurred, and directed at pleasure 
—in short, he had all the important qualifications for 
a little great man, and he was accordingly ushered into 
office amid the acclamations of the party. The leading 
men complimented his usefulness, the multitude his re¬ 
publican simplicity, and the slangwhangers vouched for 
his patriotism. Since his elevation, he has discovered 
indubitable signs of having been destined for a great 
man. His nose has acquired an additional elevation of 
several degrees, so that now he appears to have bidden 
adieu to this world, and to have set his thoughts alto¬ 
gether on things above ; and he has swelled and inflated 
himself to such a degree that his friends are under ap¬ 
prehensions that he will, one day or other, explode and 
blow up like a torpedo. 


NO. XVI.—THUE8DAT, OCTOBEB 15, 1807. 


STYLE, AT BALLSTON. 


BY WILLIAM WIZARD, ESQ. 



OT WITHSTANDING Evergreen has never 
been abroad, nor had his understanding en¬ 
lightened, or his views enlarged by that mar¬ 
velous sharpener of the wits, a salt water voyage, yet he 
is tolerably shrewd and correct, in the limited sphere of 
his observations ; and now and then astounds me with a 
right pithy remark, which would do no discredit even to 
a man who had made the grand tour. 

In several late conversations at Cockloft Hall, he has 
amused us exceedingly by detailing sundry particulars 
concerning that notorious slaughter-house of time, Ball- 
ston Springs, where he spent a considerable part of the 
last summer. The following is*a summary of his obser¬ 
vations. 

Pleasure has passed through a variety of significations 
at Ballston. It originally meant nothing more than a 
relief from pain and sickness; and the patient who had 
journeyed many a weary mile to the Springs, with a 

387 









388 


SALMAGUNDI. 


heavy heart and emaciated form, called it pleasure when 
he threw by his crutches, and danced away from them 
with renovated spirits, and limbs jocund with vigor. In 
process of time, pleasure underwent a refinement, and 
appeared in the likeness of a sober, unceremonious coun¬ 
try dance, to the flute of an amateur or the three-stringed 
fiddle of an itinerant country musician. Still everything 
bespoke that happy holiday which the spirits ever enjoy, 
when emancipated from the shackles of formality, cere¬ 
mony, and modern politeness; things went on cheerily, 
and Ballston was pronounced a charming, humdrum, 
careless place of resort, where every one was at his ease, 
and might follow unmolested the bent of his humor— 
provided his wife was not there ; when, lo ! all on a sud¬ 
den, Style made its baneful appearance in the semblance 
of a gig and tandem, a pair of leather breeches, a liveried 
footman, and a cockney! Since that fatal era pleasure 
has taken an entire new signification, and at present 
means nothing but style. 

The worthy, fashionable, dashing, good-for-nothing peo¬ 
ple of every state, who had rather suffer the martyrdom 
of a crowd than endure the monotony of their own 
homes, and the stupid company of their own thoughts, 
flock to the Springs; not to enjoy the pleasures of soci- 
ety, or benefit by the qualities of the waters, but to ex¬ 
hibit their equipages and wardrobes, and to excite the 
admiration, or, what is much more satisfactory, the envy 
of their fashionable competitors. This, of course, awa- 


A SEASON AT THE SPRINGS. 


389 


kens a spirit of noble emulation between the eastern, mid¬ 
dle, and southern States; and every lady hereupon find¬ 
ing herself charged in a manner with the whole weight of 
her country’s dignity and style, dresses and dashes, and 
sparkles, without mercy, at her competitors from other 
parts of the Union. This kind of rivalship naturally 
requires a vast deal of preparation and prodigious quan¬ 
tities of supplies. A sober citizen’s wife will break half 
a dozen milliners’ shops, and sometimes starve her fam¬ 
ily a w^hole season, to enable herself to make the Springs 
campaign in style. She repairs to the seat of war wdth a 
mighty force of trunks and bandboxes, like so many am¬ 
munition chests, filled with caps, hats, gowns, ribbons, 
shawls, and all the various artillery of fashionable war¬ 
fare. The lady of a Southern planter will lay out the 
whole annual produce of a rice plantation in silver and 
gold muslins, lace veils, and new liveries; carry a hogs¬ 
head of tobacco on her head, and trail a bale of sea- 
island cotton at her heels ; while a lady of Boston or Sa¬ 
lem will wTap herself up in the net proceeds of a cargo 
of whale oil, and tie on her hat with a quintal of codfish. 

The planters’ ladies, however, have generally the ad¬ 
vantage in this contest; for, as it is an incontestable fact, 
that whoever comes from the West or East Indies, or 
Georgia, or the Carolinas, or in fact any warm climate, is 
immensely rich, it cannot be expected that a simple cit 
of the North can cope with them in style. The planter, 
therefore, who drives four horses abroad, and a thousand 


390 


SALMAGUNDI. 


negroes at home, and who flourishes up to the Springs, 
followed by half a score of black-a-moors, in gorgeous 
liveries, is unquestionably superior to the northern mer¬ 
chant, who plods on in a carriage and pair; which, being 
nothing more than is quite necessary, has no claim what¬ 
ever to style. He, however, has his consolation in feel¬ 
ing superior to the honest cit, who dashes about in a 
simple gig; he, in return, sneers at the country squire, 
who jogs along with his scrubby, long-eared pony and 
saddlebags; and the squire, by way of taking satisfac¬ 
tion, would make no scruple to run over the unobtru¬ 
sive pedestrian, were it not that the last, being the most 
independent of the whole, might chance to break his 
head by way of retort. 

The great misfortune is, that this style is supported at 
such an expense as sometimes to encroach on the rights 
and privileges of the pocket; and occasions very awk¬ 
ward embarrassments to the tyro of fashion. Among a 
number of instances. Evergreen mentions the fate of a 
dashing blade from the South, who made his entrk. with 
a tandem and two outriders, by the aid of which he at¬ 
tracted the attention of all the ladies, and caused a cool¬ 
ness between several young couples who, it was thought 
before his arrival, had a considerable kindness for each 
other. In the course of a fortnight his tandem disap¬ 
peared ;—the class of good folk who seem to have noth¬ 
ing to do in this world but pry into other people’s af¬ 
fairs, began to stare. In a little time longer an outrider 


FAMINE AT THE SPRINGS. 


391 


was missing!—this increased the alarm, and it was con¬ 
sequently whispered that he had eaten the horses and 
drank the negro. N. B. Southern gentlemen are very 
apt to do this on an emergency. Serious apprehensions 
were entertained about the fate of the remaining servant, 
which were soon verified by his actually vanishing; and 
in “ one little month ” the dashing Carolinian modestly 
took his departure in the stage-coach!—universally re¬ 
gretted by the friends who had generously released him 
from his cumbrous load of style. 

Evergreen, in the course of his detail, gave very melan¬ 
choly accounts of an alarming famine which raged with 
great violence at the Springs. Whether this was owing 
to the incredible appetites of the company, or the 
scarcity which prevailed at the inns, he did not seem 
inclined to say; but he declares, that he was for several 
days in imminent danger of starvation, owing to his be¬ 
ing a little too dilatory in his attendance at the dinner- 
table. He relates a number of “ moving accidents,” which 
befell many of the polite company in their zeal to get a 
good seat at dinner; on which occasion a kind of scrub- 
race always took place, wherein a vast deal of jockeying 
and unfair play was shown, and a variety of squabbles 
and unseemly altercations occurred. But when arrived 
at the scene of action, it was truly an awful sight to be¬ 
hold the confusion, and to hear the tumultuous uproar of 
voices crying some for one thing, and some for another, 
to the tuneful accompaniment of knives and forks, rat- 


392 


SALMAGUNDI. 


tling witli all the energy of hungry impatience. The 
feast of the Centaurs and the Lapithse was nothing when 
compared with a dinner at the great house. At one time, 
an old gentleman, whose natural irascibility was a little 
sharpened by the gout, had scalded his throat, by gob¬ 
bling down a bowl of hot soup in a vast hurry, in order 
to secure the first-fruits of a roasted partridge before it 
was snapped up by some hungry rival; when just, as he 
was whetting his knife and fork, preparatory for a de¬ 
scent on the promised land, he had the mortification to 
see it transferred, bodily, to the plate of a squeamish 
little damsel who was taking the waters for debility and 
loss of appetite. This was too much for the patience of 
old Crusty; he lodged his fork into the partridge, whipt 
it into his dish, and cutting off a wing of it,—“ There, 
Miss, there’s more than you can eat. Oons ! what should 
such a little chalky-faced puppet as you do with a whole 
partridge! ” At another time a mighty sweet disposed 
old dowager, who loomed most magnificently at the table, 
had a sauce-boat launched upon the capacious lap of a 
silver sprigged muslin gown, by the maneuvering of a 
little politic Frenchman, who was dextrously attempting 
to make a lodgment under the covered way of a chicken- 
pie ; human nature could not bear it!—the lady bounced 
round, and, with one box on the ear, drove the luckless 
wight to utter annihilation. 

But these little cross accidents are amply compensated 
by the great variety of amusements which abounds at 


BALLSTON EVAPORATION. 


393 


this charming resort of beauty and fashion. In the 
morning the company, each like a jolly Bacchanalian, with 
glass in hand, sally forth to the Springs: where the gen¬ 
tlemen, who wish to make themselves agreeable, have 
an opportunity of dipping themselves into the good opin¬ 
ion of the ladies: and it is truly delectable to see with 
w'hat grace and adroitness they perform this ingratiating 
feat. Anthony says that it is peculiarly amazing to be¬ 
hold the quantity of water the ladies drink on this occa¬ 
sion for the purpose of getting an appetite for breakfast. 
He assures me he has been present when a young lady, 
of unparalleled delicacy, tossed off, in the space of a 
minute or two, one-and-twenty tumblers and a wine-glass 
full. On my asking Anthony whether the solicitude of 
the bystanders was not greatly awakened as to what 
might be the effects of this debauch, he replied, that the 
ladies at Ballston had become such great sticklers for 
the doctrine of evaporation, that no gentleman ever ven¬ 
tured to remonstrate against this excessive drinking for 
fear of bringing his philosophy into contempt. The most 
notorious water-drinkers, in particular, were continually 
holding forth on the surprising aptitude with which the 
Ballston waters evaporated; and several gentlemen, who 
had the hardihood to question this female philosophy, 
were held in high displeasure. 

After breakfast, every one chooses his amusement; 
some take a ride into the pine woods, and enjoy the 
varied and romantic scenery of burnt trees, post and rail 


394 


SALMAGUNDI. 


fences, pine flats, potato patches, and log huts; others 
scramble up the surrounding sand-hills, that look like the 
abodes of a gigantic race of ants;—take a peep at other 
sand-hills beyond them ;—and then—come down again. 
Others who are romantic,—and sundry young ladies in¬ 
sist upon being so whenever they visit the Springs, or 
go anywhere into the country—stroll along the borders 
of a little swampy brook that drags itself along like an 
Alexandrine, and that so lazily as not to make a single 
murmur, watching the little tadpoles as they frolic, right 
flippantly, in the muddy stream, and listening to the in¬ 
spiring melody of the harmonious frogs that croak upon 
its borders. Some play at billiards, some play at the 
fiddle, and some—play the fool;—the latter being the 
most prevalent amusement at Ballston. 

These, together with abundance of dancing, and a 
prodigious deal of sleeping of afternoons, make up the 
variety of pleasures at the Springs—a delicious life of 
alternate lassitude and fatigue; of laborious dissipation, 
and listless idleness; of sleepless nights, and days spent 
in that dozing insensibility which ever succeeds them. 
Now and then, indeed, the influenza, the fever-and-ague, 
or some such pale-faced intruder, may happen to throw 
a momentary damp on the general felicity; but on the 
whole. Evergreen declares that Ballston wants only six 
things, to wit: good air, good wine, good living, good 
beds, good company, and good humor, to be the most 
enchanting place in the world—excepting Botany Bay, 


MUSTAPHA AGAIN. 


395 


Musquito Cove, Dismal Swamp, and the black-hole at 
Calcutta. 


[The following letter from the sage Mustapha has cost 
us more trouble to decipher, and render into tolerable 
English, than any hitherto published. It was full of 
blots and erasures, particularly the latter part, which we 
have no doubt was penned in a moment of great wrath 
and indignation. Mustapha has often a rambling mode 
of writing, and his thoughts take such unaccountable 
turns, that it is difficult to tell one moment where he will 
lead you the next. This is particularly obvious in the 
commencement of his letters, which seldom bear much 
analogy to the subsequent parts; he sets off with a flour¬ 
ish, like a dramatic hero—assumes an air of great pom¬ 
posity, and struts up to his subject mounted most loftily 
on stilts. L. Langstaff.] 


LETTER FROM MUSTAPHA RUB-A-DUB KELI KHAN, 

TO A8EM HACCHEM, PRINCIPAL SLAVE-DRIVER TO HIS HIGHNESS THB 
BASHAW OP TRIPOLI. 

A MONG the variety of principles by which mankind 
are actuated, there is one, my dear Asem, which I 
scarcely know whether to consider as springing from 
grandeur and nobility of mind, or from a reflned species 




396 


SALMAGUNDI, 


of vanity and egotism. It is that singular, although 
almost universal desire of living in the memory of pos¬ 
terity; of occupying a share of the world’s attention, 
when we shall long since have ceased to be susceptible 
either of its praise or censure. Most of the passions of 
the mind are bounded by the grave; sometimes, indeed, 
an anxious hope or trembling fear will venture beyond 
the clouds and darkness that rest upon our mortal hori¬ 
zon, and expatiate in boundless futurity; but it is only 
this active love of fame which steadily contemplates its 
fruition, in the applause or gratitude of future ages. In¬ 
dignant at the narrow limits which circumscribe exist¬ 
ence, ambition is forever struggling to soar beyond them; 
to triumph over space and time, and to bear a name, at 
least, above the irritable oblivion in which everything 
else that concerns us must be involved. It is this, my 
friend, which prompts the patriot to his most heroic 
achievements; which inspires the sublimest strains of 
the poet, and breathes ethereal fire into the productions 
of the painter and the statuary. 

For this the monarch rears the lofty column; the 
laureled conqueror claims the triumphal arch; while 
the obscure individual, who moved in a humbler sphere, 
asks but a plain and simple stone to mark his grave, and 
bear to the next generation this important truth, that he 
was born, died—and was buried. It was this passion 
which once erected the vast Numidian piles, whose ruins 
we have so often regarded with wonder, as the shades of 


MUTABILITY. 


397 


evening—fit emblems of oblivion—gradually stole over 
and enveloped them in darkness. It was this which gave 
being to those sublime monuments of Saracen magnifi¬ 
cence, which nod in mouldering desolation, as the blast 
sweeps over our deserted plains.—How futile are all oui 
efforts to evade the obliterating hand of time! As I 
traversed the dreary wastes of Egypt, on my journey to 
Grand Cairo, I stopped my camel for a while and con¬ 
templated, in awful admiration, the stupendous pyramids. 
An appalling silence prevailed around; such as reigns 
in the wilderness when the tempest is hushed, and the 
beasts of prey have retired to their dens. The myriads 
that had once been employed in rearing these lofty me¬ 
mentos of human vanity, whose busy hum once en¬ 
livened the solitude of the desert—had all been swept 
from the earth by the irresistible arm of death—all were 
mingled with their native dust; all were forgotten! 
Even the mighty names which these sepulchres were 
designed to perpetuate had long since faded from re¬ 
membrance ; history and tradition afforded but vague 
conjectures, and the pyramids imparted a humiliating 
lesson to the candidate for immortality.—Alas! alas! 
said I to myself, how mutable are the foundations on 
which our proudest hopes of future fame are reposed! 
He who imagines he has secured to himself the meed of 
deathless renown, indulges in deluding visions, which 
only bespeak the vanity of the dreamer. The storied 
obelisk—the triumphal arch—the swelling dome, shall 


398 


SALMAGUNDI. 


crumble into dust, and the names they would preserve 
from oblivion shall often pass away, before their own 
duration is accomplished. 

Yet this passion for fame, however ridiculous in the 
eye of the philosopher, deserves respect and considera¬ 
tion, from having been the source of so many illustrious 
actions; and, hence it has been the practice in all en¬ 
lightened governments to perpetuate by monuments, the 
memory of great men, as a testimony of respect for the 
illustrious dead, and to awaken in the bosoms of pos¬ 
terity an emulation to merit the same honorable distinc¬ 
tion. The people of the American logocracy, who pride 
themselves upon improving on every precept or example 
of ancient or modern governments, have discovered a 
new mode of exciting this love of glory; a mode by 
which they do honor to their great men, even in their 
life-time! 

Thou must have observed by this time, that they man¬ 
age everything in a manner peculiar to themselves; and 
doubtless in the best possible manner, seeing they have 
denominated themselves “the most enlightened people 
under the sun.” Thou wilt, therefore, perhaps, be curi¬ 
ous to know how they contrive to honor the name of a 
living patriot, and what unheard-of monument they erect 
in memory of his achievements. By the fiery beard of 
the mighty Barbarossa, but I can scarcely preserve the 
sobriety of a true disciple of Mahomet while I tell thee! 
—wilt thou not smile, O, Mussulman of invincible grav- 


PUBLIC DINNERS. 


399 


ity, to learn that they honor their great men by eating, 
and that the only trophy erected to their exploits, is a 
public dinner! But, trust me, Asem, even in this meas¬ 
ure, whimsical as it may seem, the philosophic and 
considerate spirit of this people is admirably displayed. 
Wisely concluding that when the hero is dead, he be¬ 
comes insensible to the voice of fame, the song of adula¬ 
tion, or the splendid trophy, they have determined that 
he shall enjoy his quantum of celebrity while living, and 
revel in the full enjoyment of a nine days’ immortality. 
The barbarous nations of antiquity immolated human 
victims to the memory of their lamented dead, but the 
enlightened Americans offer up whole hecatombs of 
geese and calves, and oceans of wine, in honor of the 
illustrious living; and the patriot has the felicity of 
hearing from every quarter, the vast exploits in gluttony 
and reveling that have been celebrated to the glory of 
his name. 

No sooner does a citizen signalize himself in a con¬ 
spicuous manner in the service of his country, than all 
the gormandizers assemble and discharge the national 
debt of gratitude, by gi^dng him a dinner; not that he 
really receives all the luxuries provided on this occa¬ 
sion ; no, my friend, it is ten chances to one that the 
great man does not taste a morsel from the table, and is, 
perhaps, five hundred miles distant; and, to let thee into 
a melancholy fact, a patriot under this economic govern¬ 
ment, may be often in want of a dinner, while dozens are 


400 


SALMAGUNDI. 


devoured in his praise. Neither are these repasts spread 
out for the hungry and necessitous, who might otherwise 
be filled with food and gladness, and inspired to shout 
forth the illustrious name, which had been the means of 
their enjoyment; far from this, Asem ; it is the rich only 
who indulge in the banquet; those who pay for the dain¬ 
ties are alone privileged to enjoy them; so that, while 
opening their purses in honor of the patriot, they at the 
same time fulfill a great maxim, which in this country 
comprehends all the rules of prudence, and all the duties 
a man owes to himself—namely, getting the worth of 
their money. 

In process of time this mode of testifying public ap¬ 
plause has been found so marvelously agreeable, that 
they extend it to events as well as characters, and eat in 
triumph at the news of a treaty—at the anniversary of 
any grand national era, or at the gaining of that splendid 
victory of the tongue—an election. Nay, so far do they 
carry it, that certain days are set apart when the guz¬ 
zlers, the gormandizers, and the wine-bibbers meet to¬ 
gether to celebrate a grand indigestion, in memory of 
some great event; and every man, in the zeal of patriot¬ 
ism, gets devoutly drunk—‘‘as the act directs.” Then, 
my friend, mayst thou behold the sublime spectacle of 
love of country, elevating itself from a sentiment into an 
appetite, whetted to the quick with the cheering prospect 
of tables loaded with the fat things of the land. On this 
occasion every man is anxious to fall to work, cram him- 


ALDERMANIC QUALIFICATIONS. 


401 


self in honor of the day, and risk a surfeit in the glorious 
cause. Some, I have been told, actually fast for four- 
and-twenty hours preceding, that they may be enabled to 
do greater honor to the feast; and, certainly, if eating 
and drinking are patriotic rites, he who eats and drinks 
most, and proves himself the greatest glutton, is, un¬ 
doubtedly, the most distinguished patriot. Such, at any 
rate, seems to be the opinion here; and they act up to it 
so rigidly, that by the time it is dark, every kennel in 
the neighborhood teems with illustrious members of the 
sovereign people, wallowing in their congenial element 
of mud and mire. 

These patriotic feasts, or rather national monuments, 
are patronized and promoted by certain inferior cadis, 
called “ Aldermen; ” who are commonly complimented 
with their direction. These dignitaries, as far as I can 
learn, are generally appointed on account of their great 
talents for eating, a qualification peculiarly necessary in 
the discharge of their official duties. They hold frequent 
meetings at taverns and hotels, where they enter into 
solemn consultations for the benefit of lobsters and tur¬ 
tles ; establish wholesome regulations for the safety and 
preservation of fish and wild-fowl; appoint the seasons 
most proper for eating oysters ; inquire into the economy 
of taverns, the characters of publicans, and the abilities 
of their cooks; and discuss, most learnedly, the merits 
of a bowl of soup, a chicken-pie, or a haunch of venison; 
in a word, the alderman has absolute control in all mat- 
26 


402 


SALMAGUNDI, 


ters of eating, and superintends the whole police—of the 
belly. Having, in the prosecution of their important 
office, signalized themselves at so many public festivals; 
having gorged so often on patriotism and pudding, and 
entombed so many great names in their extensive maws, 
thou wilt easily conceive that they wax portly apace, 
that they fatten on the fame of mighty men, and that 
their rotundity, like the rivers, the lakes, and the moun¬ 
tains of their country, must be on a great scale ! Even 
so, my friend; and when I sometimes see a portly aider- 
man puffing along, and swelling as if he had the world 
under his waistcoat, I cannot help looking upon him as a 
walking monument, and am often ready to exclaim: “ Tell 
me, thou majestic mortal, thou breathing catacomb! to 
what illustrious character, what mighty event, does that 
capacious carcass of thine bear testimony ? ” 

But though the enlightened citizens of this logocracy 
eat in honor of their friends, yet they drink destruction 
to their enemies. Yea, Asem, woe unto those who are 
doomed to undergo the public vengeance at a public 
dinner. No sooner are the viands removed, than they 
prepare for merciless and exterminating hostilities. 
They drink the intoxicating juice of the grape, out of 
little glass cups, and over each draught pronounce a 
short sentence or prayer; not such a prayer as thy vir¬ 
tuous heart would dictate, thy pious lips give utterance 
to, my good Asem; not a tribute of thanks to all-boun¬ 
tiful Allah, nor a humble supplication for his blessing 


BACCHANALIAN ORGIES. 


403 


on the draught; no, my friend, it is merely a toast, that 
is to say, a fulsome tribute of flattery to their dema¬ 
gogues ; a labored sally of affected sentiment or national 
egotism; or, what is more despicable, a malediction on 
their enemies, an empty threat of vengeance, or a peti¬ 
tion for their destruction; for toasts, thou must know, 
are another kind of missive weapon in a logocracy, and 
are leveled from afar, like the annoying arrows of the 
Tartars. 

O, Asem! couldst thou but witness one of these pa¬ 
triotic, these monumental dinners; how furiously the 
flame of patriotism blazes forth; how suddenly they 
vanquish armies, subjugate whole countries, and exter¬ 
minate nations in a bumper, thou wouldst more than 
ever admire the force of that omnipotent weapon, the 
tongue. At these moments every coward becomes a hero, 
every ragamuffin an invincible warrior; and the most 
zealous votaries of peace and quiet forget, for a while, 
their cherished maxims, and join in the furious attack. 
Toast succeeds toast; kings, emperors, bashaws, are 
like chaff before the tempest; the inspired patriot van¬ 
quishes fleets with a single gun-boat, and swallows down 
navies at a draught, until, overpowered with victory and 
wine, he sinks upon the field of battle—dead drunk in 
his country’s cause. Sword of the puissant KhalidI 
what a display of valor is here!—the sons of Afric are 
hardy, brave, and enterprising, but they can achieve 
nothing like this. 


404 


SALMAGUNDI 


Happy would it be if this mania for toasting extended 
no further than to the expression of national resentment. 
Though we might smile at the impotent vaporing and 
windy hyperbole, by which it is distinguished, yet we 
would excuse it, as the unguarded overflowings of a 
heart, glowing with national injuries, and indignant at 
the insults offered to its country. But, alas, my friend, 
private resentment, individual hatred, and the illiberal 
spirit of party, are let loose on these festive occasions. 
Even the names of individuals, of unoffending fellow- 
citizens, are sometimes dragged forth to undergo the 
slanders and execrations of a distempered herd of rev¬ 
elers.* Head of Mahomet! how vindictive, how insatia¬ 
bly vindictive, must be that spirit which can drug the 
mantling bowl with gall and bitterness, and indulge an 
angry passion in the moment of rejoicing! “ Wine,” says 
their poet, “ is like sunshine to the heart, which, under 
its generous influence, expands with good-will, and be¬ 
comes the very temple of philanthropy.” Strange, that 

NOTE BY WILLIAM WIZARD, ESQ. 

* It would seem that, in this sentence, the sage Mustapha had refer¬ 
ence to a patriotic dinner, celebrated last 4th of July, by some gentlemen 
rf Baltimore, when they righteously drank perdition to an unoffending in¬ 
dividual, and really thought “they had done the state some service.” 
This amiable custom of “ eating and drinking damnation ” to others, is not 
confined to any party ; for a month or two after the 4th of July, the dif¬ 
ferent newspapers file off their coluinns of patriotic toasts against each 
other, and take a pride in showing how brilliantly their partisans can 
blackguard public character in their cups—“ They do but jest—poison in 
jest,” as Hamlet says. 


A COMPLIMENT. 


405 


in a temple consecrated to such a divinity, there should 
remain a secret corner, polluted by the lurkings of malice 
and revenge—strange, that in the full flow of social en- 
joyment, these votaries of pleasure can turn aside to call 
down curses on the head of a fellow-creature. Despica¬ 
ble souls ! ye are unworthy of being citizens of this 
“ most enlightened country under the sun : ” rather herd 
with the murderous savages who prowl the mountains of 
Tibesti; who stain their midnight orgies with the blood 
of the innocent wanderer, and drink their infernal pota¬ 
tions from the skulls of the victims they have massacred. 

And yet, trust me, Asem, this spirit of vindictive cow¬ 
ardice is not owing to any inherent depravity of soul, for 
on other occasions, I have had ample proof that this 
nation is mild and merciful, brave and magnanimous; 
neither is it owing to any defect in their political or 
religious precepts. The principles inculcated by their 
rulers, on all occasions, breathe a spirit of universal 
philanthropy; and as to their religion, much as I am 
devoted to the Koran of our divine prophet, still I can¬ 
not but acknowledge with admiration the mild forbear¬ 
ance, the amiable benevolence, the sublime morality 
bequeathed them by the founder of their faith. Thou 
rememberest the doctrines of the mild Nazarene, who 
preached peace and good-will to all mankind; who, when 
he was reviled, reviled not again; who blessed those who 
cursed him, and prayed for those who despitefully used 
and persecuted him! What, then, can give rise to this 


406 


SALMAGUNDI. 


uncliaritable, this inhuman custom among the disciples 
of a master so gentle and forgiving? It is that fiend 
'politics, Asem, — that baneful fiend which bewildereth 
every brain, and poisons every social feeling; which in¬ 
trudes itself at the festive banquet, and like the detest¬ 
able harpy, pollutes the very viands of the table; which 
contaminates the refreshing draught while it is inhaled ; 
which prompts the cowardly assassin to launch his poi¬ 
soned arrows from behind the social board: and which 
renders the bottle, that boasted promoter of good-fellow¬ 
ship and hilarity, an infernal engine charged with direful 
combustion. 

O, Asem! Asem! how does my heart sicken when 1 
contemplate these cowardly barbarities! let me, there¬ 
fore, if possible, withdraw my attention from them for¬ 
ever. My feelings have borne me from my subject; and 
from the monuments of ancient greatness, I have wan¬ 
dered to those of modern degradation. My warmest 
wishes remain with thee, thou most illustrious of slave- 
drivers ; mayst thou ever be sensible of the mercies of 
our great prophet, who, in compassion to human imbe¬ 
cility, has prohibited his disciples from the use of the 
deluding beverage of the grape; that enemy to reason— 
that promoter of defamation—that auxiliary of politics. 

Ever thine. 


Mustapha. 


NO. XVn.— WEDNESDAY, NOV. 11, 1807. 


AUTUMNAL REFLECTIONS. 


BY LAUNCELOT LANGSTAFF, ESQ. 



HEN a man is quietly journeying downward into 
the valley of the shadow of departed youth, and 
begins to contemplate, in a shortened perspec¬ 
tive, the end of his pilgrimage, he becomes more solici¬ 
tous than ever that the remainder of his wayfaring 
should be smooth and pleasant; and the evening of his 
life, like the evening of a summer’s day, fade away in 
mild uninterrupted serenity. If haply his heart has 
escaped uninjured through the dangers of a seductive 
world, it may then administer to the purest of his felici¬ 
ties, and its chords vibrate more musically for the trials 
they have sustained—like the viol which yields a melody 
sweet in proportion to its age. 

To a mind thus temperately harmonized — thus ma¬ 
tured and mellowed by a long lapse of years—there is 
something truly congenial in the quiet enjoyment of our 
early autumn, amid the tranquillities of the country. 
There is a sober and chastened air of gayety diffused 

407 





408 


8ALMA0UNDI 


over the face of nature, peculiarly interesting to an old 
man; and when he views the surrounding landscape 
withering under his eye, it seems as if he and nature 
were taking a last farewell of each other, and parting 
with a melancholy smile; like a couple of old friends, 
who, having sported away the spring and summer of life 
together, part at the approach of winter with a kind of 
prophetic fear that they are never to meet again. 

It is either my good fortune, or mishap, to be keenly 
susceptible to the influence of the atmosphere; and I can 
feel in the morning, before I open my window, whether 
the wind is easterly. It will not, therefore, I presume, 
be considered an extravagant instance of vainglory when 
I assert, that there are few men who can discriminate 
more accurately in the different varieties of damps, fogs, 
Scotch mists, and northeast storms, than myself. To the 
great discredit of my philosophy, I confess, I seldom fail 
to anathematize and excommunicate the weather, when it 
sports too rudely with my sensitive system; but then I 
always endeavor to atone therefor, by eulogizing it when 
deserving of approbation. And as most of my readers— 
simple folks !—make but one distinction, to wit, rain and 
sunshine ; living in most honest ignorance of the various 
nice shades which distinguish one fine day from another, 
I take the trouble, from time to time, of letting them 
into some of the secrets of nature. So will they be 
the better enabled to enjoy her beauties, with the zest 
of connoisseurs, and derive at least as much informa- 


AUTUMNAL CHANGES. 


409 


tion from my pages as from the weather-wise lore of the 
almanac. 

Much of my recreation, since I retreated to the Hall, 
has consisted in making little excursions through the 
neighborhood; which abounds in the variety of wild, 
romantic, and luxuriant landscape that generally charac¬ 
terizes the scenery in the vicinity of our rivers. There 
is not an eminence within a circuit of many miles but 
commands an extensive range of diversified and enchant¬ 
ing prospect. 

Often have I rambled to the summit of some favorite 
hill; and thence, with feelings sweetly tranquil, as the 
lucid expanse of the heavens that canopied me, have 
noted the slow and almost imperceptible changes that 
mark the waning year. There are many features peculiar 
to our autumn, and which give it an individual character. 
The “green and yellow melancholy” that first steals 
over the landscape—the mild and steady serenity of the 
weather, and the transparent purity of the atmosphere, 
speak, not merely to the senses, but the heart. It is the 
season of liberal emotions. To this succeeds fantastic 
gayety, a motley dress, which the woods assume, where 
green and yellow, orange, purple, crimson, and scarlet, 
are whimsically blended together. A sickly splendor 
this! — like the wild and broken-hearted gayety that 
sometimes precedes dissolution,—or that childish spor¬ 
tiveness of superannuated age, proceeding, not from a 
vigorous flow of animal spirits, but from the decay and 


410 


8ALMAQUNDL 


imbecility of the mind. We might, perhaps, be deceived 
by this gaudy garb of nature, were it not for the rustling 
of the falling leaf, which, breaking on the stillness of the 
scene, seems to announce, in prophetic whispers, the 
dreary winter that is approaching. When I have some¬ 
times seen a thrifty young oak changing its hue of sturdy 
vigor for a bright, but transient glow of red, it has re¬ 
called to my mind the treacherous bloom that once 
mantled the cheek of a friend who is now no more; and 
which, while it seemed to promise a long life of jocund 
spirits, was the sure precursor of premature decay. In a 
little while, and this ostentatious foliage disappears; the 
close of autumn leaves but one wide expanse of dusky 
brown, save where some rivulet steals along, bordered 
with little strips of green grass; the woodland echoes no 
more to the carols of the feathered tribes that sported in 
the leafy covert, and its solitude and silence is uninter¬ 
rupted except by the plaintive whistle of the quail, the 
barking of the squirrel, or the still more melancholy 
wintry wind, which, rushing and swelling through the 
hollows of the mountains, sighs through the leafless 
branches of the grove, and seems to mourn the desola¬ 
tion of the year. 

To one who, like myself, is fond of drawing compari¬ 
sons between the different divisions of life, and those of 
the seasons, there will appear a striking analogy, which 
connects the feelings of the aged with the decline of the 
year. Often, as I contemplate the mild, uniform, and 


FITTING REVERIES. 


411 


genial lustre with which the sun cheers and invigorates 
us in the month of October, and the almost impercep¬ 
tible haze which, without obscuring, tempers all the 
asperities of the landscape, and gives to every object a 
character of stillness and repose, I cannot help compar¬ 
ing it with that portion of existence when, the spring of 
youthful hope and the summer of the passions having 
gone by, reason assumes an undisputed sway, and lights 
us on with bright, but undazzling lustre, adown the hill 
of life. There is a full and mature luxuriance in the 
fields that fills the bosom with generous and disinter¬ 
ested content. It is not the thoughtless extravagance of 
spring, prodigal only in blossoms, nor the languid volup¬ 
tuousness of summer, feverish in its enjoyments, and 
teeming only with immature abundance—it is that cer¬ 
tain fruition of the labors of the past—that prospect of 
comfortable realities, which those will be sure to enjoy 
who have improved the beauteous smiles of heaven, nor 
wasted away their spring and summer in empty trifling 
or criminal indulgence. 

Cousin Pindar, who is my constant companion in these 
expeditions, and who still possesses much of the fire and 
energy of youthful sentiment, and a buxom hilarity of 
the spirits, often, indeed, draws me from these half¬ 
melancholy reveries, and makes me feel young again by 
the enthusiasm with which he contemplates, and the 
animation with which he eulogizes the beauties of nature 
displayed before him. His enthusiastic disposition never 


412 


SALMAGUNDI. 


allows him to enjoy things by halves, and his feelings 
are continually breaking out in notes of admiration and 
ejaculations that sober reason might perhaps deem ex¬ 
travagant. But, for my part, when I see a hale, hearty 
old man, who has jostled through the rough path of the 
world, without having worn away the fine edges of his 
feelings, or blunted his sensibility to natural and moral 
beauty, I compare him to the evergreen of the forest, 
whose colors, instead of fading at the approach of winter, 
seem to assume additional lustre, when contrasted with 
the surrounding desolation. Such a man is my friend 
Pindar; yet sometimes, and particularly at the approach 
of evening, even he will fall in with my humor; but he 
soon recovers his natural tone of spirits ; and, mount¬ 
ing on the elasticity of his mind, like Ganymede on the 
eagle’s wing, he soars to the ethereal regions of sunshine 
and fancy. 

One afternoon we had strolled to the top of a high hill 
in the neighborhood of the Hall, which commands an 
almost boundless prospect; and as the shadows began to 
lengthen around us, and the distant mountains to fade 
into mist, my cousin was seized with a moralizing fit. 
“ It seems to me,” said he, laying his hand lightly on my 
shoulder, “that there is just at this season, and this 
hour, a sympathy between us and the world we are now 
contemplating. The evening is stealing upon nature as 
well as upon us; the shadows of the opening day have 
given place to those of its close ; and the only difference 


THE COCKLOFT LIBRARY. 


413 


is, that in the morning they were before us, now they are 
behind; and that the first vanished in the splendors of 
noonday, the latter will be lost in the oblivion of night 
Our ‘ May of life,’ my dear Launce, has forever fied; our 
summer is over and gone—but,” continued he, suddenly 
recovering himself, and slapping me gayly on the shoub 
der—“ but why should we repine ?—what ? though the 
capricious zephyrs of spring, the heats and hurricanes 
of summer, have given place to the sober sunshine ol 
«-utumn! and though the woods begin to assume the 
dappled livery of decay! yet the prevailing color is still 
green—gay, sprightly green. 

“Let us then comfort ourselves with this reflection; 
that though the shades of the morning have given place 
to those of the evening—though the spring is past, the 
summer over, and the autumn come—still you and I go 
on our way rejoicing, and while, like the lofty mountains 
of our southern America, our heads are covered with 
snow, still, like them, we feel the genial warmth of spring 
and summer playing upon our bosoms.” 


BY LAUNCELOT LANGSTAFF, ESQ. 

"TN the description which I gave some time since, of 
Cockloft Hall, I totally forgot to make honorable 
mention of the library, which I confess was a most inex¬ 
cusable oversight; for in truth it would bear a com- 



414 


SALMAGUNDI, 


parison, in point of usefulness and eccentricity, with the 
motley collection of the renowned hero of La Mancha. 

It was chiefly gathered together by my grandfather; 
who spared neither pains nor expense to procure speci¬ 
mens of the oldest, most quaint, and insufferable books 
in the whole compass of English, Scotch, and Irish liter¬ 
ature. There is a tradition in the family that the old 
gentleman once gave a grand entertainment in conse¬ 
quence of having got possession of a copy of a philippic, 
by Archbishop Anselm, against the unseemly luxury of 
long-toed shoes, as worn by the courtiers in the time of 
William Bufus, which he purchased of an honest brick- 
maker in the neighborhood, for a little less than forty 
times its value. He had undoubtedly a singular rever¬ 
ence for old authors, and his highest eulogium on his 
library was, that it consisted of books not to be met with 
in any other collection; and as the phrase is, entirely out 
of print. The reason of which was, I suppose, that they 
were not worthy of being reprinted. 

Cousin Christopher preserves these relics with great 
care, and has added considerably to the collection; for 
with the Hall he has inherited almost all the whim- 
whams of its former possessor. He cherishes a reveren¬ 
tial regard for ponderous tomes of Greek and Latin; 
though he knows about as much of these languages, as 
a young Bachelor of Arts does a year or two after leaving 
college. A worm-eaten work in eight or ten volumes he 
compares to an old family, more respectable for its an- 


DRYASDUST. 


416 


tiquity than its splendor; a lumbering folio he considers 
as a duke ; a sturdy quarto, as an earl; and a row of 
gilded duodecimos, as so many gallant knights of the 
garter. But as to modern works of literature, they are 
thrust into trunks and drawers, as intruding upstarts, 
and regarded with as much contempt as mushroom no¬ 
bility in England ; who, having risen to grandeur, merely 
by their talents and services, are regarded as utterly 
unworthy to mingle their blood with those noble cur¬ 
rents that can be traced without a single contamination 
through a long line of, perhaps, useless and profligate 
ancestors, up to William the Bastard’s cook, or butler 
or groom, or some one of Kollo’s freebooters. 

Will Wizard, whose studies are of a most uncommon 
complexion, takes great delight in ransacking the library; 
and has been, during his late sojournings at the Hall, 
very constant and devout in his visits to this receptacle 
of obsolete learning. He seemed particularly tickled with 
the contents of the great mahogany chest of drawers 
mentioned in the beginning of this work. This venera¬ 
ble piece of architecture has frowned in sullen majesty, 
from a corner of the library, time out of mind; and is 
filled with musty manuscripts, some in my grandfather’s 
handwriting, and others evidently written long before 
his day. 

It was a sight, worthy of a man’s seeing, to behold 
Will with his outlandish phiz poring over old scrawls 
that would puzzle a whole society of antiquarians to 


416 


SALMAGUNDI. 


expound, and diving into receptacles of trumpery, which 
for a century past, had been undisturbed by mortal 
hand. He would sit for whole hours, with a phlegmatic 
patience unknown in these degenerate days, except, per- 
adventure, among the High Dutch commentators, prying 
into the quaint obscurity of musty parchments, until his 
whole face seemed to be converted into a folio leaf of 
black letter; and occasionally, when the whimsical mean¬ 
ing of an obscure passage flashed on his mind, his coun¬ 
tenance would curl up into an expression of Gothic 
risibility, not unlike the physiognomy of a cabbage leaf 
wilting before a hot fire. 

At such times there was no getting Will to join in our 
walks; or take any part in our usual recreations ; he 
hardly gave us an oriental tale in a week, and would 
smoke so inveterately that no one else dared to enter 
the library under pain of suffocation. This was more es¬ 
pecially the case when he encountered any knotty piece 
of writing; and he honestly confessed to me that one 
worm-eaten manuscript, written in a pestilent crabbed 
hand, had cost him a box of the best Spanish cigars be¬ 
fore he could make it out; and after all, it was not worth 
a tobacco-stalk. Such is the turn of my knowing asso¬ 
ciate ; only let him get fairly in the track of any odd out- 
of-the-way whimwham, and away he goes, whip and cut, 
until he either runs down his game, or runs himself out 
of breath; I never in my life met with a man who rode 
his hobby-horse more intolerably hard than Wizard. 


WILLIS LAUGHlEii. 


417 


One of his favorite occupations, for some time past, has 
been the hunting of black letter, which he holds in high 
regard; and he often hints, that learning has been on 
the decline ever since the introduction of the Eoman al¬ 
phabet. An old book printed three hundred years ago 
is a treasure ; and a ragged scroll, about one-half unin¬ 
telligible, fills him with rapture. O ! with what enthu¬ 
siasm will he dwell on the discovery of the Pandects of 
Justinian, and Livy’s history; and when he relates the 
pious exertions of the Medici, in recovering the lost 
treasures of Greek and Roman literature, his eye bright¬ 
ens, and his face assumes all the splendor of an illumin¬ 
ated manuscript. 

Will had vegetated for a considerable time in perfect 
tranquillity among dust and cobwebs, when one morning 
as we were gathered on the piazza, listening with ex¬ 
emplary patience to one of Cousin Christopher’s long 
stories about the Revolutionary War, we were suddenly 
electrified by an explosion of laughter from the library. 
My readers, unless peradventure they have heard honest 
Will laugh, can form no idea of the prodigious uproar 
he makes. To hear him in a forest, you would imagine 
—that is to say if you were classical enough—that the 
satyrs and the dryads had just discovered a pair of rural • 
lovers in the shade, and were deriding, with bursts of 
obstreperous laughter, the blushes of the nymph and the 
indignation of the swain,—or if it were suddenly, as in 
the present instance, to break upon the serene and pen- 
27 


418 


8ALMA01INDL 


sive silence of an autumnal morning, it would cause a 
sensation something like that which arises from hearing 
a sudden clap of thunder in a summer’s day, when not a 
cloud is to be seen above the horizon. In short, I rec¬ 
ommend Will’s laugh as a sovereign remedy for the 
spleen: and if any of our readers are troubled with that 
villainous complaint—which can hardly be, if they make 
good use of our works—I advise them earnestly to get 
introduced to him forthwith. 

This outrageous merriment of Will’s, as may be easily 
supposed, threw the whole family into a violent fit of 
wondering; we all, with the exception of Christopher, 
who took the interruption in high dudgeon, silently stole 
up to the library; and bolting in upon him, were fain at 
the first glance to join in his aspiring roar. His face— 
but I despair to give an idea of his appearance!—and 
until his portrait, which is now in the hands of an emi¬ 
nent artist, is engraved, my readers must be content; I 
promise them they shall one day or other have a strik¬ 
ing likeness of Will’s indescribable phiz, in all its native 
comeliness. 

Upon my inquiring the occasion of his mirth, he thrust 
an old, rusty, musty, and dusty manuscript into my hand, 
, of which I could not decipher one word out of ten, with¬ 
out more trouble than it was worth. This task, however, 
he kindly took off my hands; and, in a little more than 
eight-and-forty hours, produced a translation into fair 
Roman letters; though he assured me it had lost a vast 


A CHRONICLE OF GOTHAM. 


419 


deal of its humor by being modernized and degraded into 
plain English. In return for the great pains he had 
taken, I could not do less than insert it in our work. 
Will informs me that it is but one sheet of a stupendous 
bundle which still remains uninvestigated. Who was 
the author we have not yet discovered; but a note on 
the back, in my grandfather’s handwriting, informs us 
that it was presented to him as a literary curiosity by 
his particular friend, the illustrious Kip Van Dam, for¬ 
merly lieutenant-governor of the colony of New Amster¬ 
dam ; and whose fame, if it has never reached these latter 
days, it was only because he was too modest a man ever 
to do anything worthy of being particularly recorded. 


CHAP. CIX.—OF THE CHRONICLES OF THE RENOWNED AND 
ANTIENT CITY OF GOTHAM. 


How Gotham city conquered was, 

And how the folks turned apes—because. 


Link. Fid. 


LBEIT, much about this time it did fall out that the 



thrice renowned and delectable city of Gotham did 
suffer great discomfiture, and was reduced to perilous 
extremity by the invasion and assaults of the Hopping- 
tots. These are a people inhabiting a far distant coun¬ 
try, exceedingly pleasaunte and fertile; but they being 
withal egregiously addicted to migrations, do thence 



420 


SALMAGUNDI. 


issue forth in mighty swarms, like the Scythians of old, 
overrunning divers countries and commonwealths, and 
committing great devastations wheresover they do go, by 
their horrible and dreadful feats and prowesses. They 
are specially noted for being right valorous in all exer¬ 
cises of the leg; and of them it hath been rightly af¬ 
firmed that no nation in all Christendom or elsewhere, 
can cope with them in the adroit, dexterous, and jocund 
shaking of the heel. 

This engaging excellence doth stand unto them a sov¬ 
ereign recommendation, by which they do insinuate them¬ 
selves into universal favor and good countenance ; and it 
is a notable fact, that, let a Hoppingtot but once intro¬ 
duce a foot into company, and it goeth hardly if he doth 
not contrive to flourish his whole body in thereafter. 
The learned Linkum Fidelius, in his famous and unheard 
of treatise on man, whom he defineth, with exceeding 
sagacity, to be a corn-cutting, tooth-drawing animal, is 
particularly minute and elaborate in treating of the na¬ 
tion of the Hoppingtots, and betrays a little of the Py¬ 
thagorean in his theory, inasmuch as he accounteth for 
their being so wonderously adroit in pedestrian exer¬ 
cises, by supposing that they did originally acquire this 
unaccountable and unparalleled aptitude for huge and 
unmatchable feats of the leg, by having heretofore been 
condemned for their numerous offenses against that harm¬ 
less race of bipeds,—or quadrupeds, for herein the sage 
Linkum Fidelius appeareth to doubt and waver exceed- 


PIBOUET AND RIOADOON. 


421 


ingly—the frogs, to animate their bodies for the space of 
one or two generations. 

He also giveth it as his opinion, that the name of Hop- 
pingtots is manifestly derivative from this transmigra¬ 
tion. Be this, however, as it may, the matter, albeit it 
has been the subject of controversy among the learned, is 
but little pertinent to the subject of this history; where¬ 
fore shall we treat and consider it as naughte. 

Now these people being thereto impelled by a super¬ 
fluity of appetite, and a plentiful deficiency of the where¬ 
withal to satisfy the same, did take thought that the 
antient and venerable city of Gotham was, peradventure, 
possessed of mighty treasures, and did, moreover, abound 
with all manner of fish and flesh, and eatables and drink¬ 
ables, and such like delightsome and wholesome excel¬ 
lencies withal. Whereupon calling a council of the most 
active-heeled warriors, they did resolve forthwith to put 
forth a mighty array, make themselves masters of the 
same, and revel in the good things of the land. To this 
were they hotly stirred up, and wickedly incited, by two 
redoubtable and renowned warriors, hight Pirouet and 
Rigadoon; ycleped in such sort, by reason that they 
were two mighty, valiant, and invincible little men; ut¬ 
terly famous for the victories of the leg which they had, 
on divers illustrious occasions, right gallantly achieved. 

These doughty champions did ambitiously and wick¬ 
edly inflame the minds of their countrymen, with gor¬ 
geous descriptions, in the which they did cunninglie set 


422 


SALMAGUNDI 


forth the maryelous riches and luxuries of Gotham; 
where Hoppingtots might have garments for their bod¬ 
ies, shirts to their ruffles, and might riot most merrily 
every day in the week on beef, pudding, and such like 
lusty dainties. They, Pirouet and Kigadoon, did like¬ 
wise hold out hopes of an easy conquest; forasmuch as 
the Gothamites were as yet but little versed in the mys¬ 
tery and science of handling the legs; and being, more¬ 
over, like unto that notable bully of antiquity, Achilles, 
most vulnerable to all attacks on the heel, would doubt¬ 
less surrender at the very first assault. Whereupon, on 
the hearing of this inspiriting counsel, the Hoppingtots 
set up a prodigious great cry of joy, shook their heels in 
triumph, and were all impatience to dance on to Gotham 
and take it by storm. 

The cunning Pirouet, and that arch caitiff Eigadoon, 
knew full well how to profit of this enthusiasm. They 
forthwith did order every man to arm himself with a cer¬ 
tain pestilent little weapon called a fiddle; to pack up in 
his knapsack a pair of silk breeches, the like of ruffles, a 
cocked hat of the form of a half-moon, a bundle of catgut 
—and inasmuch as in marching to Gotham, the army 
might peradventure be smitten with scarcity of provi¬ 
sions, they did account it proper that each man should 
take especial care to carry with him a bunch of right mer¬ 
chantable onions. Having proclaimed these orders by 
sound of fiddle, they, Pirouet and Eigadoon, did accord¬ 
ingly put their army behind them, and striking up the 


INVASION OF GOTHAM. 


423 


right jolly and sprightful tune of Ca Ira, away they all 
capered toward the devoted city of Gotham, with a most 
horrible and appalling chattering of voices. 

Of their first appearance before the beleaguered town, 
and of the various difficulties which did encounter them 
in their march, this history saith not; being that other 
matters of more weighty import require to be written. 
When that the army of the Hoppingtots did peregrinate 
within sight of Gotham, and the people of the city did 
behold the villainous and hitherto unseen capers and 
grimaces which they did make, a most horrific panic was 
stirred up among the citizens; and the sages of the town 
fell into great despondency and tribulation, as supposing 
that these invaders were of the race of the Jig-hees, who 
did make men into baboons when they achieved a con¬ 
quest over them. The sages, therefore, called upon all 
the dancing men and dancing women, and exhorted them, 
with great vehemence of speech, to make heel against the 
invaders, and to put themselves upon such gallant de¬ 
fense, such glorious array, and such sturdy evolution, 
elevation, and transposition of the foot as might incon¬ 
tinently impester the legs of the Hoppingtots, and pro¬ 
duce their complete discomfiture. But so it did happen, 
by great mischance, that divers light-heeled youths of 
Gotham, more especially those who are descended from 
three wise men, so renowned of yore for having most 
venturesomely voyaged over sea in a bowl, were, from 
time to time, captured and inveigled into the camp of 


424 


SALMAGUNDI. 


the enemy; where, being foolishly cajoled and treated 
for a season with outlandish disports and pleasantries, 
they were sent back to their friends, entirely changed, 
degenerated, and turned topsy-turvy; insomuch that 
they thought thenceforth of nothing but their heels, 
always essaying to thrust them into the most man¬ 
ifest point of view ; and, in a word, as might truly be 
affirmed, did forever after walk upon their heads out¬ 
right. 

And the Hoppingtots did day by day, and at late hours 
of the night, wax more and more urgent in this their in¬ 
vestment of the city. At one time they would, in goodly 
procession, make an open assault by sound of fiddle in a 
tremendous contra-dance—and anon they would advance 
by little detachments and maneuvers to take the town 
by figuring in cotillons. But truly their most cunning 
and devilish craft and subtilty was made manifest in 
their strenuous endeavors to corrupt the garrison, by 
a most insidious and pestilent dance called the Waltz, 
This, in good truth, was a potent auxiliary; for, by it, 
were the heads of the simple Gothamites most villain¬ 
ously turned, their wits sent a wool-gathering, and them¬ 
selves on the point of surrendering at discretion even 
unto the very arms of their invading foemen. 

At length the fortifications of the town began to give 
manifest symptoms of decay; inasmuch as the breast¬ 
work of decency was considerably broken down, and the 
curtain works of propriety blown up. When that cun- 


PlROUErS 8TRATE0T. 


425 


ning caitiff, Pirouet, beheld the ticklish and jeopardized 
state of the city—“Now, by my leg,” quoth he,—he 
always swore by his leg, being that it was an exceed¬ 
ingly goodlie leg,—“ now, by my leg,” quoth he, “ but 
this is no great matter of recreation; I will show these 
people a pretty, strange, and new way, forsooth, pres* 
entlie, and will shake the dust off my pumps upon this 
most obstinate and uncivilized town. Whereupon he 
ordered, and did command his warriors, one and all, 
that they should put themselves in readiness, and pre^ 
pare to carry the town by a grand ball. They, in no¬ 
wise to be daunted, do forthwith, at the word, equip 
themselves for the assault; and in good faith, truly, it 
was a gracious and glorious sight—a most triumphant 
and incomparable spectacle—to behold them gallantly 
arrayed in glossy and shining silk breeches tied with 
abundance of ribbon; with silken hose of the gorgeous 
color of the salmon; right goodlie morocco pumps, dec¬ 
orated with clasps or buckles of a most cunninge and 
secret contrivance, inasmuch as they did of themselves 
grapple to the shoe without any aid of fluke or tongue, 
marvelously ensembling witchcraft and necromancy. 
They had, withal, exuberant chitterlings, which • puffed 
out at the neck and bosom, after a most jolly fashion, 
like unto the beard of an antient he-turkey; and cocked 
hats, the which they did carry not on their heads, after 
the fashion of the Gothamites, but under their arms, as 
a roasted fowl his gizzard. 


426 


SALMAGUNDI. 


Thus being equipped and marshaled, they do attack, 
assault, batter, and belabor the town with might and 
main; most gallantly displaying the vigor of their legs, 
and shaking their heels at it most emphatically. And 
the manner of their attack was in this sort: first, they 
did thunder and gallop forward in a contre-temps —and 
anon, displayed column in a Cossack dance, a fandan¬ 
go, or a gavot. Whereat the Gothamites, in nowise 
understanding this unknown system of warfare, mar¬ 
veled exceedinglie, and did open their mouths inconti¬ 
nently, the full distance of a bow-shot, meaning a cross¬ 
bow, in sore dismay and apprehension. Whereupon, 
saith Rigadoon, flourishing his left leg with great ex¬ 
pression of valor, and most magnific carriage: “ My 
copesmates, for what wait we here ? are not the towns¬ 
men already won to our favor ? do not their women and 
young damsels wave to us from the walls in such sort 
that, albeit, there is some show of defense, yet is it 
manifestly converted into our interests ? ” So saying, 
he made no more ado, but leaping into the air about a 
flight-shot, and crossing his feet six times, after the man¬ 
ner of the Hoppingtots, he gave a short partridge-run, 
and with mighty vigor and swiftness did bolt outright 
over the walls with a somerset. The whole army of 
Hoppingtots danced in after their valiant chieftain, with 
an enormous squeaking of fiddles, and a horrific blasting 
and brattling of horns ; insomuch that the dogs did howl 
in the streets, so hideously were their ears assailed. The 


HOPPINQTOT SEVERITY. 


427 


Gothamites made some semblance of defense, but their 
women having been all won over into the interest of the 
enemy, they were shortly reduced to make most abject 
submission; and delivered over to the coercion of certain 
professors of the Hoppingtots, who did put them under 
most ignominious durance, for the space of a long time, 
until they had learned to turn out their toes, and flour¬ 
ish their legs after the manner of their conquerors. And 
thus, after the manner I have related, was the mighty 
and puissant city of Gotham circumvented, and taken 
by a coup de pied ; or, as it might be rendered, by force 
of legs. 

The conquerors showed no mercy, but did put all 
ages, sexes, and conditions, to the fiddle and the dance; 
and, in a word, compelled and enforced them to be¬ 
come absolute Hoppingtots. “ Habit,” as the ingenious 
Linkum Fidelius profoundly affirmeth, “is second na¬ 
ture.” And this original and invaluable observation 
hath been most aptly proved, and illustrated, by the 
example of the Gothamites, ever since this disastrous 
and unlucky mischance. In process of time, they have 
waxed to be most flagrant, outrageous, and abandoned 
dancers; they do ponder on naughte but how to gal- 
lantize it at balls, routs, and fandangoes; insomuch 
that the like was in no time or place ever observed be¬ 
fore. They do, moreover, pitifully devote their nights 
to the jollification of the legs, and their days forsooth 
to the instruction and edification of the heel. And to 


428 


8ALMA0UNDL 


conclude; their young folk, who whilome did bestow a 
modicum of leisure upon the head, have of late utterly 
abandoned this hopeful task, and have quietly, as it 
were, settled themselves down into mere machines, 
wound up by a tune, and set in motion by a fiddle¬ 
stick 1 


NO. XVin.— TUESDAY, NOV. 24, 1807. 

THE LITTLE MAN IN BLACK. 

BY LAUNCELOT LANGSTAFF, ESQ. 

HE following story has been handed down by 
family tradition for more than a century. It 
is one on which my cousin Christopher dwells 
with more than usual prolixity ; and, being in some 
measure connected with a personage often quoted in our 
work, I have thought it worthy of being laid before my 
readers. 

Soon after my grandfather, Mr. Lemuel Cockloft, had 
quietly settled himself at the Hall, and just about the 
time that the gossips of the neighborhood, tired of pry¬ 
ing into his affairs, were anxious for some new tea-table 
topic, the busy community of our little village was 
thrown into a grand turmoil of curiosity and conjecture 
—a situation very common to little gossiping villages— 
by the sudden and unaccountable appearance of a mys¬ 
terious individual. 

The object of this solicitude was a little black-looking 
man, of a foreign aspect, who took possession of an old 

429 







430 


SALMAGUNDI. 


building, which having long had the reputation of being 
haunted, was in a state of ruinous desolation, and an ob¬ 
ject of fear to all true believers in ghosts. He usually 
wore a high sugar-loaf hat with a narrow brim; and a lit¬ 
tle black cloak, which, short as he was, scarcely reached 
below his knees. He sought no intimacy or acquaintance 
with any one ; appeared to take no interest in the pleas¬ 
ures or the little broils of the village; nor ever talked, 
except sometimes to himself in an outlandish tongue. 
He commonly carried a large book, covered with sheep¬ 
skin, under his arm; appeared always to be lost in medi¬ 
tation ; and was often met by the peasantry, sometimes 
watching the dawning of day, sometimes at noon seated 
under a tree, poring over his volume; and sometimes at 
evening gazing with a look of sober tranquillity at the 
sun as it gradually sunk below the horizon. 

The good people of the vicinity beheld something 
prodigiously singular in all this; a profound mystery 
seemed to hang about the stranger which, with all their 
sagacity, they could not penetrate; and in the excess of 
worldly charity they pronounced it a sure sign “ that he 
was no better than he should be; ” a phrase innocent 
enough in itself: but which, as applied in common, sig¬ 
nifies nearly everything that is bad. The young people 
thought him a gloomy misanthrope, because he never 
joined in their sports; the old men thought still more 
hardly of him because he followed no trade, and never 
seemed ambitious of earning a farthing; and as to the old 


THE LITTLE MAN IN BLACK. 


431 


gossips, baffled by the inflexible taciturnity of the stran¬ 
ger, they unanimously decreed that a man who could not 
or would not talk was no better than a dumb beast. The 
little man in black, careless of their opinions, seemed re¬ 
solved to maintain the liberty of keeping his own secret; 
and the consequence was that, in a little while, the whole 
village was in an uproar; for in little communities of this 
description, the members have always the privilege of 
being thoroughly versed, and even of meddling in all the 
affairs of each other. 

A confidential conference was held one Sunday morn¬ 
ing after sermon, at the door of the village church, and 
the character of the unknown fully investigated. The 
schoolmaster gave it as his opinion that he was the 
wandering Jew; the sexton was certain that he must be 
a freemason, from his silence; a third maintained, with 
great obstinacy, that he was a high German doctor, and 
that the book which he carried about with him contained 
the secrets of the black art; but the most prevailing 
opinion seemed to be that he was a witch; a race of 
beings at that time abounding in tnose parts; and a 
sagacious old matron, from Connecticut, proposed to 
ascertain the fact by sousing him into a kettle of hot 
water. 

Suspicion, when once afloat, goes with wind and tide, 
and soon becomes certainty. Many a stormy night was 
the little man in black seen by the flashes of lightning, 
frisking and curveting in the air upon a broomstick; and 


432 


SALMAGUNDI. 


it was always observed that at those times the storm did 
more mischief than at any other. The old lady, in par¬ 
ticular, who suggested the humane ordeal of the boiling 
kettle, lost on one of these occasions a fine brindle cow; 
which accident was entirely ascribed to the vengeance of 
the little man in black. If ever a mischievous hireling 
rode his master’s favorite horse to a distant frolic, and 
the animal was observed to be lame and jaded in the 
morning, the little man in black was sure to be at the 
bottom of the affair; nor could a high wind howl through 
the village at night but the old women shrugged up their 
shoulders, and observed, “ the little man in black was in 
his tantrums.^' In short, he became the bugbear of every 
house; and was as effectual in frightening little children 
into obedience and hysterics, as the redoubtable Kaw- 
head-and-bloody-bones himself; nor could a housewife 
of the village sleep in peace except under the guardian¬ 
ship of a horseshoe nailed to the door. 

The object of these direful suspicions remained for 
some time totally ignorant of the wonderful quandary he 
had occasioned; but he was soon doomed to feel its 
effects. An individual who is once so unfortunate as to 
incur the odium of a village is in a great measure out¬ 
lawed and proscribed; and becomes a mark for injury 
and insult; particularly if he has not the power or the 
disposition to recriminate. The little venomous pas¬ 
sions, which in the great world are dissipated and weak¬ 
ened by being widely diffused, act in the narrow limits 


THE POOR TURNSPIT. 


433 


of a country town with collected vigor, and become ran¬ 
corous in proportion as they are confined in their sphere 
of action. The little man in black experienced the truth 
of this ; every mischievous urchin returning from school 
had full liberty to break his windows; and this was con¬ 
sidered as a most daring exploit; for in such awe did 
they stand of him, that the most adventurous schoolboy 
was never seen to approach his threshold, and at night 
would prefer going round by the cross-roads, where a 
traveller had been murdered by the Indians, rather than 
pass by the door of his forlorn habitation. 

The only living creature that seemed to have any care 
or affection for this deserted being was an old turnspit— 
the companion of his lonely mansion and his solitary 
wandering—the sharer of his scanty meals, and—sorry I 
am to say it—the sharer of his persecutions. The turn¬ 
spit, like his master, was peaceable and inoffensive; 
never known to bark at a horse, to growl at a traveller, 
or to quarrel with the dogs of the neighborhood. He 
followed close at his master’s heels when he went out, 
and when he returned stretched himself in the sun¬ 
beams at the door; demeaning himself in all things like 
a civil and well-disposed turnspit. But notwithstand¬ 
ing his exemplary deportment, he fell likewise under 
the ill report of the village, as being the familiar of 
the little man in black, and the evil spirit that pre¬ 
sided at his incantations. The old hovel was considered 
as the scene of their unhallowed rites, and its harm- 
28 


434 


SALMAGUNDI, 


less tenants regarded with a detestation which their 
inoffensive conduct never merited. Though pelted and 
jeered at by the brats of the village, and frequently 
abused by their parents, the little man in black never 
turned to rebuke them; and his faithful dog, when 
wantonly assaulted, looked up wistfully in his master’s 
face, and there learned a lesson of patience and forbear¬ 
ance. 

The movements of this inscrutable being had long 
been the subject of speculation at Cockloft Hall, for its 
inmates were full as much given to wondering as their 
descendants. The patience with which he bore his per¬ 
secutions particularly surprised them; for patience is a 
virtue but little known in the Cockloft family. My grand¬ 
mother, who, it appears, was rather superstitious, saw in 
this humility nothing but the gloomy sullenness of a 
wizard who restrained himself for the present, in hopes 
of midnight vengeance; the parson of the village, who 
was a man of some reading, pronounced it the stubborn 
insensibility of a stoic philosopher; my grandfather, 
who, worthy soul, seldom wandered abroad in search of 
conclusions, took a data from his own excellent heart, 
and regarded it as the humble forgiveness of a Christian. 
But however different were their opinions as to the 
character of the stranger, they agreed in one particular, 
namely, in never intruding upon his solitude; and my 
grandmother, who was at that time nursing my mother, 
never left the room without wisely putting the large 


A TOUGHING SCENE. 


435 


family Bible in the cradle—a sure talisman, in her opin¬ 
ion, against witchcraft and necromancy. 

One stormy winter night, when a bleak northeast wind 
moaned about the cottages, and howled around the vil¬ 
lage steeple, my grandfather was returning from club, 
preceded by a servant with a lantern. Just as he arrived 
opposite the desolate abode of the little man in black, he 
was arrested by the piteous howling of a dog, which, 
heard in the pauses of a storm, was exquisitely mourn¬ 
ful ; and he fancied, now and then, that he caught the 
low and broken groans of some one in distress. He 
stopped for some minutes, hesitating between the be¬ 
nevolence of his heart and a sensation of genuine 
delicacy, which, in spite of his eccentricity, he fully 
possessed—and which forbade him to pry into the con¬ 
cerns of his neighbors. Perhaps, too, this hesitation 
might have been strengthened by a little taint of super¬ 
stition ; for surely, if the unknown had been addicted to 
witchcraft, this was a most propitious night for his vaga¬ 
ries. At length the old gentleman’s philanthropy pre¬ 
dominated ; he approached the hovel, and, pushing open 
the door—for poverty has no occasion for locks and keys 
—beheld, by the light of the lantern, a scene that smote 
his generous heart to the core. 

On a miserable bed, with pallid and emaciated visage, 
and hollow eyes—in a room destitute of every conve¬ 
nience—without fire to warm or friend to console him, 
lay this helpless mortal, who had been so long the terror 


436 


SALMAGUNDI. 


and wonder of the village. His dog was crouching on 
the scanty coverlet, and shivering with cold. My grand¬ 
father stepped softly and hesitatingly to the bedside, and 
accosted the forlorn sufferer in his usual accents of kind¬ 
ness. The little man in black seemed recalled by the 
tones of compassion from the lethargy into which he had 
fallen; for, though his heart was almost frozen, there 
was yet one chord that answered to the call of the good 
old man who bent over him; the tones of sympathy, so 
novel to his ear, called back his wandering senses, and 
acted like a restorative to his solitary feelings. 

He raised his eyes, but they were vacant and haggard; 
he put forth his hand, but it was cold; he essayed to 
speak, but the sound died away in his throat; he pointed 
to his mouth with an expression of dreadful meaning, 
and, sad to relate, my grandfather understood that the 
harmless stranger, deserted by society, was perishing 
with hunger! With the quick impulse of humanity, he 
despatched the servant to the Hall for refreshment. A 
little warm nourishment renovated him for a short time, 
but not long; it was evident his pilgrimage was drawing 
to a close, and he was about entering that peaceful asy¬ 
lum, where ‘‘the wicked cease from troubling.” 

His tale of misery was short and quickly told; infirmi¬ 
ties had stolen upon him, heightened by the rigors of the 
season: he had taken to his bed, without strength to rise 
and ask for assistance—“ and if I had,” said he, in a tone 
of bitter despondency, “ to whom should I have applied ? 


AN EMBLEM OF BENEVOLENCE, 


437 


1 have no friend that I know of in the world! The vil¬ 
lagers avoid me as something loathsome and dangerous; 
and here, in the midst of Christians, should I have per¬ 
ished, without a fellow-being to soothe the last moments 
of existence, and close my dying eyes, had not the bowl¬ 
ings of my faithful dog excited your attention.” 

He seemed deeply sensible of the kindness of my 
grandfather; and at one time, as he looked up into his 
old benefactor’s face, a solitary tear was observed to 
steal adown the parched furrows of his cheek. Poor 
outcast! it was the last tear he shed; but I warrant it 
was not the first by millions. My grandfather watched 
by him all night. Toward morning he gradually de¬ 
clined ; and, as the rising sun gleamed through the 
window, he begged to be raised in his bed, that he 
might look at it for the last time. He contemplated it 
for a moment, with a kind of religious enthusiasm, and 
his lips moved as if engaged in prayer. The strange 
conjectures concerning him rushed on my grandfather’s 
mind; “ he is an idolater,” thought he, “ and is worship¬ 
ping the sun! ” He listened a moment, and blushed at 
his own uncharitable suspicion; he was only engaged in 
the pious devotions of a Christian. His simple orison 
being finished, the little man in black withdrew his eyes 
from the east, and, taking my grandfather’s hand in one 
of his, and making a motion with the other toward the 
sun: “ I love to contemplate it,” said he; “ ’tis an em¬ 
blem of the universal benevolence of a true Christian; 


438 


8ALMAGUNDL 


and it is the most glorious work of Him, who is philan¬ 
thropy itself! ” My grandfather blushed still deeper at 
his ungenerous surmises; he had pitied the stranger at 
first, but now he revered him. He turned once more 
to regard him, but his countenance had undergone a 
change; the holy enthusiasm that had lighted up each 
feature had given place to an expression of mysterious 
import; a gleam of grandeur seemed to steal across his 
Gothic visage, and he appeared full of some mighty 
secret which he hesitated to impart. He raised the 
tattered nightcap that had sunk almost over his eyes, 
and waving his withered hand with a slow and feeble 
expression of dignity—“ In me,” said he, with laconic 
solemnity—“in me you behold the last descendant of 
the renowned Linkum Fidelius ! ” My grandfather gazed 
at him with reverence; for though he had never heard 
of the illustrious personage, thus pompously announced, 
yet there was a certain black-letter dignity in the name 
that peculiarly struck his fancy and commanded his 
respect. 

“ You have been kind to me,” continued the little man 
in black, after a momentary pause, “ and richly will I 
requite your kindness by making you heir to my treas¬ 
ures ! In yonder large deal box are the volumes of my 
illustrious ancestor, of which I alone am the fortunate 
possessor. Inherit them, ponder over them, and be 
wise ! ” He grew faint with the exertion he had made, 
and sunk back almost breathless on his pillow. His 


LINKUM FIDELIUS' FOLIOS. 


m 


hand, which, inspired with the importance of his sub¬ 
ject, he had raised to my grandfather’s arm, slipped 
from its hold and fell over the side of the bed, and his 
faithful dog licked it, as if anxious to soothe the last 
moments of his dying master and testify his gratitude to 
the hand that had so often cherished him. The un¬ 
taught caresses of the faithful animal were not lost upon 
his dying master; he raised his languid eyes, turned 
them on the dog, then on my grandfather; and having 
given this silent recommendation—closed them for ever. 

The remains of the little man in black, notwithstand¬ 
ing the objections of many pious people, were decently 
interred in the churchyard of the village; and his spirit, 
harmless as the body it once animated, has never been 
known to molest a living being. My grandfather com¬ 
plied, as far as possible, with his last request; he con¬ 
veyed the volumes of Linkum Fidelius to his library; he 
pondered over them frequently; but whether he grew 
wiser, the tradition doth not mention. This much is 
certain, that his kindness to the poor descendant of 
Fidelius was amply rewarded by the approbation of his 
own heart, and the devoted attachment of the old turn¬ 
spit ; who, transferring his affection from his deceased 
master to his benefactor, became his constant attendant, 
and was father to a long line of runty curs that still 
flourish in the family. And thus was the Cockloft 
library first enriched by the invaluable folios of the 
sage Linkum Fidelius. 


440 


8ALMAQUNDL 


LETTER PROM MUSTAPHA RUB-A-DUB KELI KHAN, 

TO ASEM HACCHEM, PRINCIPAL SLAVE-DRIVER TO HIS HIGHNESS THE BASHA-^ 
OF TRIPOLI. 


HOUGH I am often disgusted, my good Asem, with 



the vices and absurdities of the men of this country, 
yet the women afford me a world of amusement. Their 
lively prattle is as diverting as the chattering of the red¬ 
tailed parrot; nor can the green-headed monkey of 
Timandi equal them in whim and playfulness. But, not¬ 
withstanding these valuable qualifications, I am sorry to 
observe they are not treated with half the attention 
bestowed on the before mentioned animals. These in¬ 
fidels put their parrots in cages and chain their mon¬ 
keys ; but their women, instead of being carefully shut 
up in harems and seraglios, are abandoned to the direc¬ 
tion of their own reason, and suffered to run about 
in perfect freedom, like other domestic animals. This 
comes, Asem, of treating their women as rational beings, 
and allowing them souls. The consequence of this pit¬ 
eous neglect may easily be imagined; they have degen¬ 
erated into all their native wildness, are seldom to be 
caught at home, and, at an early age, take to the streets 
and highways, where they rove about in droves, giving 
almost as much annoyance to the peaceable people as 
the troops of wild dogs that infest our great cities, or 
the flights of locusts that sometimes spread famine and 
desolation over whole regions of fertility. 


DOMESTIC OCCUPATIONS. 


441 


This propensity to relapse into pristine wildness, con¬ 
vinces me of the untamable disposition of the sex, who 
may indeed be partially domesticated by a long course 
of confinement and restraint, but the moment they are 
restored to personal freedom, become wild as the young 
partridge of this country, which, though scarcely half- 
hatched, will take to the fields and run about with the 
shell upon its back. 

Notwithstanding their wildness, however, they are re¬ 
markably easy of access, and suffer themselves to be 
approached at certain hours of the day, without any 
symptoms of apprehension; and I have even happily 
succeeded in detecting them at their domestic occupa¬ 
tions. One of the most important of these, consists in 
thumping vehemently on a kind of musical instrument, 
and producing a confused, hideous, and indefinable up¬ 
roar, which they call the description of a battle—a jest, 
no doubt, for they are wonderfully facetious at times, 
and make great practice of passing jokes upon strangers. 
Sometimes they employ themselves in painting little 
caricatures of landscapes, wherein they display their 
singular drollery in bantering nature fairly out of coun¬ 
tenance ; representing her tricked out in all the tawdry 
finery of copper skies, purple rivers, calico rocks, red 
grass, clouds that look like old clothes set adrift by the 
tempest, and foxy trees, whose melancholy foliage, droop¬ 
ing and curling most fantastically, reminds me of an 
undressed periwig that I have, now and then, seen hung 


442 


SALMAGUNDI. 


on a stick in a barber’s window. At other times, they 
employ themselves in acquiring a smattering of lan¬ 
guages spoken by nations on the other side of the globe, 
as they find their own language not sufficiently copious 
to supply their constant demands, and express their 
multifarious ideas. But their most important domestic 
avocation is, to embroider, on satin or muslin, fiowers of 
a nondescript kind, in which the great art is to make 
them as unlike nature as possible—or to fasten little 
bits of silver, gold, tinsel and glass, on long strips of 
muslin, which they drag after them with much dignity 
whenever they go abroad—a fine lady, like a bird of 
paradise, being estimated by the length of her tail. 

But do not, my friend, fall into the enormous error of 
supposing that the exercise of these arts is attended 
with any useful or profitable results; believe me, thou 
couldst not indulge an idea more unjust and injurious; 
for it appears to be an established maxim among the 
women of this country, that a lady loses her dignity 
when she condescends to be useful; and forfeits all rank 
in society the moment she can be convicted of earning a 
farthing. Their labors, therefore, are directed, not toward 
supplying their household, but in decking their persons, 
and—generous souls—they deck their persons, not so 
much to please themselves, as to gratify others, particu¬ 
larly strangers. I am confident thou wilt stare at this, 
my good Asem, accustomed as thou art to our eastern 
females, who shrink in blushing timidity even from the 


miBTAPHA'S FIDELITY. 


443 


glance of a lover, and are so chary of their favors, that 
they even seem fearful of lavishing their smiles too pro¬ 
fusely on their husbands. Here, on the contrary, the 
stranger has the first place in female regard, and, so far 
do they carry their hospitality that 1 have seen a fine 
lady slight a dozen tried friends and real admirers, who 
lived in her smiles and made her happiness their study, 
merely to allure the vague and wandering glances of a 
stranger, who viewed her person with indifference, and 
treated her advances with contempt. By the whiskers of 
our sublime bashaw, but this is highly flattering to 
a foreigner! and thou mayst judge how particularly 
pleasing to one who is, like myself, so ardent an admirer 
of the sex. Far be it from me to condemn this extra¬ 
ordinary manifestation of good-will—let their own coun¬ 
trymen look to that. 

Be not alarmed, I conjure thee, my dear Asem, lest I 
should be tempted, by these beautiful barbarians, to 
break the faith I owe to the three-and-twenty wives, 
from whom my unhappy destiny has perhaps severed 
me forever. No, Asem, neither time, nor the bitter suc¬ 
cession of misfortunes that pursue me, can shake from 
my heart the memory of former attachments. I listen 
with tranquil heart to the strumming and prattling of 
these fair sirens; their whimsical paintings touch not 
the tender chord of my affections ; and I would still defy 
their fascinations, though they trailed after them tails as 
long as the gorgeous trappings which are dragged at the 


444 


SALMAGUNDI. 


heels of the holy camel of Mecca; or as the tail of 
the great beast in our prophet’s vision, which measured 
three hundred and forty-nine leagues, two miles, three 
furlongs, and a hand’s breadth in longitude. 

The dress of these women is, if possible, more eccen¬ 
tric and whimsical than their deportment; and they take 
an inordinate pride in certain ornaments which are prob¬ 
ably derived from their savage progenitors. A woman 
of this country, dressed out for an exhibition, is loaded 
with as many ornaments as a Circassian slave when 
brought out for sale. Their heads are tricked out with 
little bits of horn or shell, cut into fantastic shapes, and 
they seem to emulate each other in the number of these 
singular baubles—like the women we have seen in our 
journeys to Aleppo, who cover their heads with the 
entire shell of a tortoise, and, thus equipped, are the 
envy of all their less fortunate acquaintance. They also 
decorate their necks and ears with coral, gold chains, 
and glass beads, and load their fingers with a variety of 
rings; though I must confess, I have never perceived 
that they wear any in their noses—as has been affirmed 
by many travellers. We have heard much of their paint¬ 
ing themselves most hideously, and making use of bear’s 
grease in great profusion; but this, I solemnly assure 
thee, is a misrepresentation; civilization, no doubt, hav¬ 
ing gradually extirpated these nauseous practices. It is 
true, I have seen two or three of these females, who had 
disguised their features with paint; but then it was 


DE 0U8T1BU8. 445 

merely to give a tinge of red to their cheeks, and did not 
look very frightful; and as to ointment, they rarely use 
any now, except occasionally a little Grecian oil for their 
hair, which gives it a glossy, greasy, and, they think, 
very comely appearance. The last mentioned class of 
females, I take it for granted, have been but lately 
caught, and still retain strong traits of their original 
savage propensities. 

The most flagrant and inexcusable fault, however, 
which I find in these lovely savages, is the shameless 
and abandoned exposure of their persons. Wilt thou 
not suspect me of exaggeration when I afiirm—wilt thou 
not blush for them, most discreet Mussulman, when I 
declare to thee, that they are so lost to all sense of 
modesty, as to expose the whole of their faces, from 
their forehead to the chin, and they even go abroad with 
their hands uncovered ! Monstrous indelicacy ! 

But what I am going to disclose will, doubtless, appear 
to thee still more incredible. Though I cannot forbear 
paying a tribute of admiration to the beautiful faces of 
these fair infidels, yet I must give it as my firm opinion 
that their persons are preposterously unseemly. In vain 
did I look around me, on my first landing, for those divine 
forms of redundant proportions, which answer to the true 
standard of Eastern beauty. Not a single fat fair one 
could I behold among the multitudes that thronged 
the streets; the females that passed in review before 
me, tripping sportively along, resembled a procession of 


446 


SALMAGUNDI, 


shadows returning to their graves at the crowing of the 
cock. 

This meagreness I first ascribed to their excessive 
volubility; for I have seen it somewhere advanced by a 
learned doctor, that the sex were endowed with a pecu¬ 
liar activity of tongue, in order that they might practice 
talking as a healthful exercise, necessary to their con¬ 
fined and sedentary mode of life. This exercise, it was 
natural to suppose, would be carried to great excess in 
a logocracy. “Too true,” thought I, “they have con¬ 
verted what was undoubtedly meant as a beneficent gift, 
into a noxious habit, that steals the flesh from their 
bones and the rose from their cheeks—they absolutely 
talk themselves thin! ” Judge, then, of my surprise when 
I was assured, not long since, that this meagreness was 
considered the perfection of personal beauty, and that 
many a lady starved herself, with all the obstinate per¬ 
severance of a pious dervise — into a fine figure ! “Nay, 
more,” said my informer, “ they will often sacrifice their 
healths in this eager pursuit of skeleton beauty, and 
drink vinegar, eat pickles, and smoke tobacco, to keep 
themselves within the scanty outlines of the fashions.” 
Faugh I Allah preserve me from such beauties, who con¬ 
taminate their pure blood with noxious recipes — who 
impiously sacrifice the best gifts of Heaven, to a prepos¬ 
terous and mistaken vanity! Ere long I shall not be 
surprised to see them scarring their faces like the ne¬ 
groes of Congo, flattening their noses in imitation of the 


HOME THOUGHTS. 


447 


Hottentots, or, like the barbarians of Ab-al Timar, dis¬ 
torting their lips and ears out of all natural dimensions. 
Since I received this information, I cannot contemplate a 
fine figure without thinking of a vinegar cruet; nor look 
at a dashing belle without fancying her a pot of pickled 
cucumbers! What a difference, my friend, between these 
shades and the plump beauties of Tripoli—what a con¬ 
trast between an infidel fair one and my favorite wife, 
Fatima, whom I bought by the hundred weight, and had 
trundled home in a wheelbarrow ! 

But enough for the present; I am promised a faithful 
account of the arcana of a lady’s toilette—a complete in¬ 
itiation into the arts, mysteries, spells, and potions; in 
short, the whole chemical process by which she reduces 
herself down to the most fashionable standard of insig¬ 
nificance ; together with specimens of the strait-waist¬ 
coats, the lacings, the bandages, and the various ingeni¬ 
ous instruments with which she puts nature to the rack, 
and tortures herself into a proper figure to be admired. 

Farewell, thou sweetest of slave-drivers! The echoes 
that repeat to a lover’s ear the song of his mistress, are 
not more soothing than tidings from those we love. Let 
thy answer to my letters be speedy; and never, I pray 
thee, for a moment, cease to watch over the prosperity of 
my house, and the welfare of my beloved wives. Let 
them want for nothing, my friend ; but feed them plenti¬ 
fully on honey, boiled rice, and water-gruel; so that when 
I return to the blessed land of my fathers, if that can 


448 


SALMAGUNDI. 


ever be! I may find them improved in size and loveli¬ 
ness, and sleek as the graceful elephants that range the 
green valley of Abimar. 


Ever thine, 


Mustapha. 


NO. XIX.—THUKSDAT, DEC. 31, 1807. 


FROM MY ELBOW-CHAIR. 

H - AVING returned to town, and once more for¬ 
mally taken possession of my elbow-chair, it 
; behooves me to discard the rural feelings, and 
the rural sentiments, in which I have for some time past 
indulged, and devote myself more exclusively to the edi¬ 
fication of the town. As I feel at this moment a chivalric 
spark of gallantry playing around my heart, and one of 
those dulcet emotions of cordiality, which an old bache¬ 
lor will sometimes entertain toward the divine sex, I am 
determined to gratify the sentiment for once, and devote 
this number exclusively to the ladies. I would not, how¬ 
ever, have our fair readers imagine that we wish to flatter 
ourselves into their good graces, devoutly as we adore 
them !—and what true cavalier does not ?—and heartily 
as we desire to flourish in the mild sunshine of their 
smiles, yet we scorn to insinuate ourselves into their 
favor; unless it be as honest friends, sincere well-wishers, 
and disinterested advisers. If in the course of this num¬ 
ber they find us rather prodigal of our encomiums, they 
will have the modesty to ascribe it to the excess of their 
29 449 









450 


SALMAGUNDI. 


own merits ; if they find us extremely indulgent to their 
faults, they will impute it rather to the superabundance 
of our good-nature, than to any servile and illiberal fear 
of giving offense. 

The following letter of Mustapha falls in exactly with 
the current of my purpose. As I have before mentioned 
that his letters are without dates, we were obliged to 
give them very irregularly, without any regard to chron¬ 
ological order. 

The present one appears to have been written not long 
after his arrival, and antecedent to several already pub¬ 
lished. It is more in the familiar and colloquial style than 
the others. Will Wizard declares he has translated it with 
fidelity, excepting that he has omitted several remarks on 
the waltz, which the honest Mussulman eulogizes with 
great enthusiasm, comparing it to certain voluptuous 
dances of the seraglio. Will regretted exceedingly, that 
the indelicacy of several of these observations compelled 
their total exclusion, as he wishes to give all possible 
encouragement to this popular and amiable exhibition. 


LETTER FROM MUSTAPHA RUB-A-DUB KELI KHAN, 

TO MULEY HELIM AL RAGGI, SURNAMED THE AGREEABLE RAGAMUFFIN, CHIEP 
MOUNTEBANK AND BUFFA-DANCER TO HIS HIGHNESS. 

^J^HE numerous letters which I have written to our 
friend the slave-driver, as well as those to thy kins¬ 
man the Snorer, and which, doubtless, were read to thee, 



THE CITY ASSEMBLY. 


451 


honest Muley, have, in all probability, awakened thy 
curiosity to know further particulars concerning the man¬ 
ners of the barbarians, who hold me in such ignominious 
captivity. I was lately at one of their public ceremonies, 
which, at first, perplexed me exceedingly as to its object; 
but as the explanations of a friend have let me somewhat 
into the secret, and as it seems to bear no small analogy 
to thy profession, a description of it may contribute to 
thy amusement, if not to thy instruction. 

A few days since, just as I had finished my coffee, and 
was perfuming my whiskers, preparatory to a morning 
walk, I was waited upon by an inhabitant of this place, a 
gay young infidel, who has of late cultivated my acquaint¬ 
ance. He presented me with a square bit of painted 
pasteboard, which, he informed me, would entitle me to 
admittance to the City Assembly. Curious to know the 
meaning of a phrase which was entirely new to me, I 
requested an explanation; when my friend informed me, 
that the assembly was a numerous concourse of young 
people of both sexes, who, on certain occasions, gathered 
together to dance about a large room with violent gesti¬ 
culation, and try to outdress each other. “In short,” 
said he, “ if you wish to see the natives in all their glory, 
there’s no place like the City AssemUy ; so you must go 
there, and sport your whiskers.” Though the matter of 
sporting my whiskers was considerably above my appre¬ 
hension, yet I now began, as I thought, to understand 
him. I had heard of the war dances of the natives, which 


452 


SALMAGUNDL 


are a kind of religious institution, and had little doubt 
but that this must be a solemnity of the kind—upon a 
prodigious great scale. Anxious as I am to contemplate 
these strange people in every situation, I willingly ac¬ 
ceded to his proposal, and to be the more at ease, I de¬ 
termined to lay aside my Turkish dress, and appear in 
plain garments of the fashion of this country, as is my 
custom whenever I wish to mingle in a crowd without 
exciting the attention of the gaping multitude. 

It was long after the shades of night had fallen before 
my friend appeared to conduct me to the assembly. 
“ These infidels,*’ thought I, “ shroud themselves in mys¬ 
tery, and seek the aid of gloom and darkness, to heighten 
the solemnity of their pious orgies.” Kesolving to 
conduct myself with that decent respect, which every 
stranger owes to the customs of the land in which he 
sojourns, I chastised my features into an expression of 
sober reverence, and stretched my face into a degree of 
longitude suitable to the ceremony I was about to wit¬ 
ness. Spite of myself, I felt an emotion of awe stealing 
over my senses as I approached the majestic pile. My 
imagination pictured something similar to a descent into 
the cave of Dom-Daniel, where the necromancers of the 
East are taught their infernal arts. I entered with the 
same gravity of demeanor that I would have approached 
the holy temple at Mecca, and bowed my head three 
times as I passed the threshold. “ Head of the mighty 
Amrou! ” thought I, on being ushered into a splendid 


ENCHANTED. 


453 


saloon, ‘‘ what a display is here! surely I am transported 
to the mansions of the Houris, the elysium of the faith¬ 
ful ! ”—How tame appeared all the descriptions of en¬ 
chanted palaces in our Arabian poetry !—wherever I 
turned my eyes, the quick glances of beauty dazzled 
my vision and ravished my heart; lovely virgins flut¬ 
tered by me, darting imperial looks of conquest, or beam¬ 
ing such smiles of invitation, as did Gabriel when he 
beckoned our holy prophet to Heaven. Shall I own 
the weakness of thy friend, good Muley?—while thus 
gazing on the enchanted scene before me, I, for a 
moment, forgot my country; and even the memory of 
my three-and-twenty wives faded from my heart; my 
thoughts were bewildered and led astray by the charms 
of these bewitching savages, and I sunk, for a while, into 
that delicious state of mind, where the senses, all en¬ 
chanted, and all striving for mastery, produce an endless 
variety of tumultuous, yet pleasing emotions. O Muley, 
never shall I again wonder that an infidel should prove 
a recreant to the single solitary wife allotted him, when, 
even thy friend, armed with all the precepts of Mahomet, 
can so easily prove faithless to three-and-twenty. 

“ Whither have you led me ? ” said I, at length, to my 
companion, ‘‘ and to whom do these beautiful creatures 
belong ? Certainly this must be the seraglio of the grand 
bashaw of the city, and a most happy bashaw must he be, 
to possess treasures which even his highness of Tripoli 
cannot parallel.” 


454 


SALMAGUNDI. 


** Have a care,” cried my companion, ** how yon talk 
about seraglios, or you’ll have all these gentle nymphs 
about your ears; for seraglio is a word which, beyond 
all others, they abhor. Most of them,” continued he, 
“have no lord and master, but come here to catch one 
—they’re in the market, as we term it.” 

“Ah, hah! ” said I, exultingly, “ then you really have a 
fair, or slave'market, such as we have in the East, where 
the faithful are provided with the choicest virgins of 
Georgia and Circassia?—by our glorious sun of Afric, 
but I should like to select some ten or a dozen wives 
from so lovely an assemblage! Pray, what would you 
suppose they might be bought for ? ”— 

Before I could receive an answer, my attention was 
attracted by two or three good-looking, middle-sized 
men, who, being dressed in black, a color universally 
worn in this country by the muftis and dervises, I im¬ 
mediately concluded to be high-priests, and was con¬ 
firmed in my original opinion that this was a religious 
ceremony. These reverend personages are entitled man¬ 
agers, and enjoyed unlimited authority in the assemblies, 
being armed with swords, with which, I am told, they 
would infallibly put any lady to death, who infringed 
the laws of the temple. They walked round the room 
with great solemnity, and, with an air of profound im¬ 
portance and mystery, put a little piece of folded paper 
in each fair hand, which I concluded were religious talis¬ 
mans. One of them dropped on the floor, whereupon I 


8TRANQE RITES. 


455 


slyly put my foot on it, and, watching an opportunity, 
picked it up unobserved, and found it to contain some 
unintelligible words, and the mystic number 9. What 
were its virtues I know not; except that I put it in my 
pocket, and have hitherto been preserved from my fit of 
the lumbago, which I generally have about this season of 
the year, ever since I tumbled into the well of Zim-zim 
on my pilgrimage to Mecca. I inclose it to thee in this 
letter, presuming it to be particularly serviceable against 
the dangers of thy profession. 

Shortly after the distribution of these talismans, one 
of the high-priests stalked into the middle of the room 
with great majesty, and clapped his hands three times; a 
loud explosion of music succeeded from a number of 
black, yellow, and white musicians, perched in a kind 
of cage over the grand entrance. The company were 
thereupon thrown into great confusion and apparent 
consternation. They hurried to and fro about the room, 
and at length formed themselves into little groups of 
eight persons, half male and half female; the music 
struck into something like harmony, and, in a moment, 
to my utter astonishment and dismay, they were all 
seized with what I concluded to be a paroxysm of re¬ 
ligious phrenzy, tossing about their heads in a ludi¬ 
crous style from side to side, and indulging in extrava¬ 
gant contortions of figure ; now throwing their heels into 
the air, and anon whirling round with the velocity of the 
eastern idolaters, who think they pay a grateful homage 


456 


SALMAGUNDI. 


to the sun by imitating his motions. I expected every 
moment to see them fall down in convulsions, foam at 
the mouth, and shriek with fancied inspiration. As 
usual, the women seemed most fervent in their religious 
exercises, and performed them with a melancholy ex¬ 
pression of feature that was peculiarly touching; but I 
was highly gratified by the exemplary conduct of several 
male devotees, who, though their gesticulations would 
intimate a wild merriment of the feelings, maintained 
throughout as inflexible a gravity of countenance as so 
many monkeys of the island of Borneo at their antics. 

“ And pray,” said I, “ who is the divinity that presides 
in this splendid mosque ? ” 

“ The divinity !—O, I understand—you mean the hdle 
of the evening; we have a new one every season ; the one 
at present in fashion, is that lady you see yonder, dressed 
in white, with pink ribbons, and a crowd of adorers 
around her.” 

“ Truly,” cried I, “ this is the pleasantest deity I have 
encountered in the whole course of my travels—so fa¬ 
miliar, so condescending, and so merry withal; why, her 
very worshippers take her by the hand, and whisper in 
her ear.” 

“ My good Mussulman,” replied my friend, with great 
gravity, “ I perceive you are completely in an error con¬ 
cerning the intent of this ceremony. You are now in a 
place of public amusement, not of public worship ; and 
the pretty looking young men you see making such vio- 


DANCING FOR AMUSEMENT. 457 

lent and grotesque distortions, are merely indulging in 
our favorite amusement of dancing.” 

“I cry your mercy,” exclaimed I, “these then are the 
dancing men and women of the town, such as we have in 
our principal cities, who hire themselves out for the en¬ 
tertainment of the wealthy ; but, pray, who pays them 
for this fatiguing exhibition ? ” 

My friend regarded me for a moment with an air of 
whimsical perplexity, as if doubting whether I was in jest 
or earnest. “ ’Sblood, man,” cried he, “ these are some 
of our greatest people, our fashionables, who are merely 
dancing here for amusement.” 

Dancing for amusement! think of that, Muley !—thou, 
whose greatest pleasure is to chew opium, smoke tobacco, 
loll on a couch, and doze thyself into the regions of the 
Houris—Dancing for amusement!—shall I never cease 
having occasion to laugh at the absurdities of these bar¬ 
barians, who are laborious in their recreations, and indolent 
only in their hours of business ? Dancing for amusement! 
—the very idea makes my bones ache, and I never think 
of it without being obliged to apply my handkerchief to 
my forehead, and fan myself into some degree of coolness. 

“ And pray,” said I, when my astonishment had a little 
subsided, “do these musicians also toil for amusement, 
or are they confined to their cage, like birds, to sing for 
the gratification of others? I should think the former 
was the case, from the animation with which they flour¬ 
ish their elbows.” 


458 


8ALMA0UNDL 


“Not so,” replied my friend, “they are well paid, which 
is no more than just, for I assure you they are the most 
important personages in the room. The fiddler puts the 
whole assembly in motion, and directs their movements, 
like the master of a puppet-show, who sets all his paste¬ 
board gentry kicking by a jerk of his fingers. There 
now, look at that dapper little gentleman yonder, who 
appears to be suffering the pangs of dislocation in every 
limb: he is the most expert puppet in the room, and 
performs, not so much for his own amusement, as for 
that of the bystanders.” Just then the little gentleman, 
having finished one of his paroxysms of activity, seemed 
to be looking round for applause from the spectators. 
Feeling myself really much obliged to him for his ex¬ 
ertions, I made him a low bow of thanks, but nobody 
followed my example, which I thought a singular instance 
of ingratitude. 

Thou wilt perceive, friend Muley, that the dancing of 
these barbarians is totally different from the science 
professed by thee in Tripoli; the country, in fact, is af¬ 
flicted by numerous epidemical diseases, which travel 
from house to house, from city to city, with the regular¬ 
ity of a caravan. Among these, the most formidable is 
this dancing mania, which prevails chiefly throughout 
the winter. It at first seized on a few people of fashion, 
and being indulged in moderation, was a cheerful exer¬ 
cise ; but in a little time, by quick advances, it infected 
all classes of the community, and became a raging epi- 


EXHIBITING THE GRACES. 


459 


demic. The doctors immediately, as is their usual way, 
instead of devising a remedy, fell together by the ears, 
to decide whether it was native or imported, and the 
sticklers for the latter opinion traced it to a cargo of 
trumpery from France, as they had before hunted down 
the yellow fever to a bag of coffee from the West Indies. 
What makes this disease the more formidable is, that 
the patients seem infatuated with their malady, abandon 
themselves to its unbounded ravages, and expose their 
persons to wintry storms and midnight airs—more fatal, 
in this capricious climate, than the withering simoom 
blast of the desert. 

I know not whether it is a sight most whimsical or 
melancholy to witness a fit of this dancing malady. The 
lady hops up to the gentleman, who stands at the dis¬ 
tance of about three paces, and then capers back again 
to her place; the gentleman, of course, does the same; 
then they skip one way, then they jump another; then 
they turn their backs to each other; then they seize 
each other and shake hands; then they whirl round, and 
throw themselves into a thousand grotesque and ridicu¬ 
lous attitudes—sometimes on one leg, sometimes on the 
other, and sometimes on no leg at all—and this they call 
exhibiting the graces! By the nineteen thousand capers 
of the great mountebank of Damascus, but these graces 
must be something like the crooked-back dwarf, Shabrac, 
who is sometimes permitted to amuse His Highness by 
imitating the tricks of a monkey. These fits continue at 


m 


SALMAGUNDI. 


short intervals for four or five hours, till at last the lady 
is led off, faint, languid, exhausted, and panting, to her 
carriage; rattles home; passes a night of feverish rest¬ 
lessness, cold perspirations, and troubled sleep; rises late 
next morning, if she rises at all, is nervous, petulant, or 
a prey to languid indifference all day—a mere household 
spectre, neither giving nor receiving enjoyment—in the 
evening hurries to another dance; receives an unnatural 
exhilaration from the lights, the music, the crowd, and 
the unmeaning bustle; flutters, sparkles, and blooms for 
a while until, the transient delirium being past, the in¬ 
fatuated maid droops and languishes into apathy again; 
is again led off to her carriage, and the next morning 
rises to go through exactly the same joyless routine. 

And yet, wilt thou believe it, my dear Raggi, these are 
rational beings—nay, more, their countrymen would fain 
persuade me they have souls! Is it not a thousand times 
to be lamented that beings, endowed with charms that 
might warm even the frigid heart of a dervise—with 
social and endearing powers that would render them the 
joy and pride of the harem—should surrender themselves 
to a habit of heartless dissipation, which preys imper¬ 
ceptibly on the roses of the cheek—which robs the eye 
of its lustre, the mouth of its dimpled smile, the spirits 
of their cheerful hilarity, and the limbs of their elastic 
vigor—which hurries them off in the spring-time of ex¬ 
istence ; or, if they survive, yields to the arms of a youth¬ 
ful bridegroom a frame wrecked in the storms of dissi- 


STUDYING HIEROGLYPHICS. 


461 


pation, and struggling with premature infirmity. Alas, 
Muley! may I not ascribe to this cause, the number of 
little old women I meet with in this country from the 
age of eighteen to eight-and-twenty. 

In sauntering down the room, my attention was at¬ 
tracted by a smoky painting, which, on nearer examina¬ 
tion, I found consisted of two female figures crowning a 
bust with a wreath of laurel, “ This, I suppose,” cried 
I, “ was some famous dancer in his time ? ” 

‘‘O, no,” replied my friend, “he was only a general.” 

“ Good; but then he must have been great at a cotil¬ 
lon, or expert at a fiddlestick, or why is his memorial 
here?” 

“ Quite the contrary,” answered my companion, “ his¬ 
tory makes no mention of his ever having fiourished a 
fiddlestick, or figured in a single dance. You have, no 
doubt, heard of him; he was the illustrious Washington, 
the father and deliverer of his country; and as our na¬ 
tion is remarkable for gratitude to great men, it always 
does honor to their memoiy, by placing their monuments 
over the doors of taverns, or in the comers of dancing 
rooms.” 

From thence my friend and I strolled into a small 
apartment adjoining the grand saloon, where I beheld a 
number of grave-looking persons, with venerable gray 
heads, but without beards, which I thought very unbe¬ 
coming, seated around a table, studying hieroglyphics. 
I approached them with reverence, as so many magi, or 


462 


SALMAGUNDI 


learned men, endeavoring to expound the mysteries of 
Egyptian science. Several of them threw down money, 
which I supposed was a reward proposed for some great 
discovery, when presently one of them spread his hiero¬ 
glyphics on the table and exclaimed triumphantly, ‘‘ Two 
bullets and a bragger! ’* and swept all the money into his 
pocket. He has discovered a key to the hieroglyphics, 
thought I; happy mortal! no doubt his name will be im¬ 
mortalized. Willing, however, to be satisfied, I looked 
round on my companion with an inquiring eye. He un¬ 
derstood me, and informed me that these were a com¬ 
pany of friends who had met together to win each other’s 
money, and be agreeable. “Is that all?” exclaimed I, 
“why, then, I pray you, make way, and let me escape 
from this temple of abominations, or who knows but 
these people, who meet together to toil, worry, and fa¬ 
tigue themselves to death, and give it the name of pleas¬ 
ure—and who win each other’s money by way of being 
agreeable—may some one of them take a liking to me, 
and pick my pocket, or break my head in a paroxysm of 
hearty good-will 1 ” 

Thy friend. 


Mustapha. 


TEE WINTER CAMPAIGN. 


463 


BY ANTHONY EVERGREEN, GENT. 

‘‘Nunc est bibendum nunc pede libero 
Pulsanda tellus.” Hor. 

“Now is the time for wine and myrthful sportes, 

For daunce, and song, and disportes of sych sortes.” 

Link. Pid. 

^ I winter campaign has opened. Fashion has sum¬ 
moned her numerous legions at the sound of trum¬ 
pet, tambourine, and drum, and all the harmonious min¬ 
strelsy of the orchestra, to hasten from the dull, silent, 
and insipid glades and groves, where they have vegetated 
during the summer, recovering from the ravages of the 
last winter’s campaign. Our fair ones have hurried to 
town, eager to pay their devotions to the tutelary deity, 
and to make an offering at her shrine of the few pale and 
transient roses they gathered in their healthful retreat. 
The fiddler rosins his bow, the card-table devotee is 
shuffling her pack; the young ladies are industriously 
spangling muslins, and the tea-party heroes are airing 
their chapeaux bras and pea-blossom breeches, to prepare 
for figuring in the gay circle of smiles, and graces, and 
beauty. Now the fine lady forgets her country friends, 
in the hurry of fashionable engagements, or receives the 
simple intruder, who has foolishly accepted her thousand 
pressing invitations, with such politeness that the poor 
soul determines never to come again. Now the gay buck, 
who erst figured at Ballston, and quaffed the pure spring, 


464 


SALMAGUNDI. 


exchanges the sparkling water for still more sparkling 
champagne, and deserts the nymph of the fountain, to 
enlist under the standard of jolly Bacchus. In short, 
now is the important time of the year in which to 
harangue the bon-ton reader, and, like some ancient hero 
in front of the battle, to spirit him up to deeds of noble 
daring, or still more noble suffering, in the ranks of fash¬ 
ionable warfare. 

Such, indeed, has been my intention, but the number 
of cases which have lately come before me, and the 
variety of complaints I have received from a crowd of 
honest and well-meaning correspondents, call for more 
immediate attention. A host of appeals, petitions, and 
letters of advice are now before me, and I believe the 
shortest way to satisfy my petitioners, memorialists, and 
advisers, will be to publish their letters, as I suspect the 
object of most of them is merely to get into print. 

TO ANTHONY EVERGREEN, GENT. 

Sir :— 

As you appear to have taken to yourself the trouble of 
meddling in the concerns of the beau monde, I take the 
liberty of appealing to you on a subject which, though 
considered merely as a very good joke, has occasioned 
me great vexation and expense. You must know I pride 
myself on being very useful to the ladies—that is, I take 
boxes for them at the theatre, go shopping with them, 
supply them with bouquets, and furnish them with 


CORRESPONDENCE. 


465 


novels from the circulating library. In consequence of 
these attentions I am become a great favorite, and there 
is seldom a party going on in the city without my having 
an invitation. The grievance I have to mention, is the 
exchange of hats which takes place on these occasions— 
for, to speak my mind freely, there are certain young 
gentlemen who seem to consider fashionable parties as 
mere places to barter old clothes: and, I am informed, 
that a number of them manage, by this great system of 
exchange, to keep their crowns decently covered without 
their hatter suffering in the least by it. 

It was but lately that I went to a private ball with a 
new hat, and on returning in the latter part of the even¬ 
ing, and asking for it, the scoundrel of a servant, with a 
broad grin, informed me, that the new hats had been 
dealt out half an hour since, and they were then on the 
third quality, and I was in the end obliged to borrow a 
young lady’s beaver rather than go home with any of the 
ragged remnants that were left. 

Now, I would wish to know if there is no possibility of 
having these offenders punished by law; and whether it 
would not be advisable for ladies to mention in their 
cards of invitation, as a postscript, stealing of hats and 
shawls positively prohibited.” At any rate, I would 
thank you, Mr. Evergreen, to discountenance the thing 
totally, by publishing in your paper that stealing a hat is 
no joke. Your humble servant, 

Walter Withers. 


30 


466 


SALMAGUNDL 


My correspondent is informed, that the police hare 
determined to take this matter into consideration, and 
have set apart Saturday mornings for the cognizance of 
fashionable larcenies. 

Me. Eveegreen :— 

Sir —Do you think a married woman may lawfully put 
her husband right in a story, before strangers, when she 
knows him to be in the wrong; and can anything author¬ 
ize a wife in the exclamation of—“ Lord, my dear, how 
can you say so 1 ” Margaret Timson. 

Dear Anthony :— 

Going down Broadway this morning in a great hurry, 
I ran full against an object which at first put me to a 
prodigious nonplus. Observing it to be dressed in a 
man’s hat, a cloth overcoat, and spatterdashes, I framed 
my apology accordingly, exclaiming, “ My dear sir, I ask 
ten thousand pardons—I assure you, sir, it was entirely 
accidental—pray excuse me, sir,” etc. At every one of 
these excuses, the thing answered me with a downright 
laugh; at which I was not a little surprised, until, on 
resorting to my pocket-glass, I discovered that it was no 
other than my old acquaintance, Clarinda Trollop. I 
never was more chagrined in my life; for, being an old 
bachelor, I like to appear as young as possible, and am 
always boasting of the goodness of my eyes. I beg of 
you, Mr. Evergreen, if you have any feeling for your 


A LADT*S ARCHITECTURE. 


467 


contemporaries, to discourage this hermaphrodite mode 
of dress; for really, if the fashion take, we poor bache¬ 
lors will be utterly at a loss to distinguish a woman from 
a man. Pray let me know your opinion, sir, whether a 
lady who wears a man’s hat and spatterdashes before 
marriage, may not be apt to usurp some other article of 
his dress afterward. 

Your humble servant, 

Koderick Worry. 


Dear Mr. Evergreen :— 

The other night, at Kichard the Third, I sat behind 
three gentlemen who talked very loud on the subject of 
Bichard’s wooing Lady Ann directly in the face of his 
crimes against that lady. One of them declared such an 
unnatural scene would be hooted at in China. Pray, sir, 
was that Mr. Wizard ? 

Selina Badger. 

P. S. The gentleman I allude to had a pocket-glass, 
and wore his hair fastened behind by a tortoise-shell 
comb, with two teeth wanting. 

Mr. Evergrin :— 

Sir— Being a little curious in the affairs of the toilette, 
I was much interested by the sage Mustapha’s remarks, 
in your last number, concerning the art of manufacturing 
a modern fine lady. I would have you caution your fair 


468 


SALMAGUNDI. 


readers, however, to be very careful in the management 
of their machinery, as a deplorable accident happened, 
last assembly, in consequence of the architecture of a 
lady’s figure not being sufficiently strong. In the mid¬ 
dle of one of the cotillons, the company was suddenly 
alarmed by a tremendous crash at the lower end of the 
room; and on crowding to the place, discovered that it 
was a fine figure which had unfortunately broken down 
from too great exertion in a pigeon wing. By great good 
luck I secured the corset, which I carried home in tri¬ 
umph ; and the next morning had it publicly dissected, 
and a lecture read on it at Surgeons’ Hall. I have since 
commenced a dissertation on the ‘ subject, in which I 
shall treat of the superiority of those figures manu¬ 
factured by steel, stay-tape, and whalebone, to those 
formed by Dame Nature. I shall show clearly that the 
Venus de Medicis has no pretension to beauty of form, 
as she never wore stays, and her waist is in exact pro¬ 
portion to the rest of her body. I shall inquire into the 
mysteries of compression, and how tight a figure can be 
laced without danger of fainting, and whether it would 
not be advisable for a lady, when dressing for a ball, to 
be attended by the family physician, as culprits are when 
tortured on the rack, to know how much more nature 
will endure. I shall prove that ladies have discovered 
the secret of that notorious juggler, who offered to 
squeeze himself into a quart bottle; and I shall demon¬ 
strate, to the satisfaction of every fashionable reader. 


A FINE FIGURE. 


469 


that there is a certain degree of heroism in purchasing 
a preposterously slender waist at the expense of an old 
age of decrepitude and rheumatics. This dissertation 
shall be published, as soon as finished, and distributed 
gratis among boarding-school madams, and all worthy 
matrons who are ambitious that their daughters should 
sit straight, move like clockwork and “ do credit to their 
bringing up.” In the meantime, I have hung up the 
skeleton of the corset in the museum beside a dissected 
weasel and a stuffed alligator, where it may be inspected 
by all those naturalists who are fond of studying the 
“ human form divine.” 

Yours, etc. 

Julian Cognous. 

P. S. By accurate calculation I find it is dangerous for 
a fine figure, when full dressed, to pronounce a word oi 
more than three syllables. Fine Figure, if in love, may 
indulge in a gentle sigh; but a sob is hazardous. Fine 
Figure may smile with safety, may even venture as far as 
a giggle ; but must never risk a loud laugh. Figure must 
never play the part of a confidante; as at a tea-party, 
some few evenings since, a young lady whose unparal¬ 
leled impalpability of waist was the envy of the drawing¬ 
room, burst with an important secret, and had three ribs 
—of her corset!—fractured on the spot. 

Mr. Evergreen :— 

Sib —I am one of those industrious gemmen who labor 


470 


SALMAGUNDI. 


hard to obtain currency in the fashionable world. I have 
went to great expense in little boots, short vests, and 
long breeches; my coat is regularly imported, per stage, 
from Philadelphia, duly insured against all risks, and 
my boots are smuggled from Bond Street. I have 
lounged in Broadway with one of the most crooked 
walking-sticks I could procure, and have sported a pair 
of salmon-colored small clothes, and flame-colored stock¬ 
ings, at every concert and ball to which I could purchase 
admission. Being affeared that I might possibly appear 
to less advantage as a pedestrian, in consequence of my 
being rather short and a little bandy, I have lately hired 
a tall horse with cropped ears and a cocked tail, on 
which I have joined the cavalcade of pretty gemmen, 
who exhibit bright stirrups every fine morning in Broad¬ 
way, and take a canter of two miles per day, at the rate 
of three hundred dollars per annum. But, sir, all this 
expense has been laid out in vain, for I can scarcely get 
a partner at an assembly, or an invitation to a tea-party. 
Pray, sir, inform me what more I can do to acquire 
admission into the true stylish circles, and whether it 
would not be advisable to charter a curricle for a month, 
and have my cipher put on it, as is done by certain 
dashers of my acquaintance. 

Tours to serve, 

Malvouo Dubsteb. 


TEA’. A POEM. 


471 


TEA. 

A POEM. 

FROM THE MILL OP PINDAR COCKLOFT, ESQ. 

And Bd/mestly recommended to the attention of Maidens of a certavn aQt % 

/^LD time, my dear girls, is a knave who in truth 

From the fairest of beauties will pilfer their youth; 
Who, by constant attention and wily deceit. 

Forever is coaxing some grace to retreat; 

And, like crafty seducer, with subtle approach. 

The further indulged, will still further encroach. 

Since this thief of the world ” has made off with your 
bloom, 

And left you some score of stale years in its room— 

Has depriv’d you of all those gay dreams, that would dance 
In your brains at fifteen, and your bosoms entrance , 

And has forced you almost to renounce, in despair. 

The hope of a husband’s affection and care— 

Since such is the case, and a case rather hard I 
Permit one who holds you in special regard. 

To furnish such hints in your loveless estate 
As may shelter your names from detraction and hate. 

Too often our maidens grow aged, I ween, 

Indulge to excess in the workings of spleen ; 

And at times, when annoy’d by the slights of mankind. 

Work off their resentment—by speaking their mind: 

Assemble together in snuff-taking clan. 

And hold round the tea-urn a solemn divan. 


472 


SALMAGUNDI, 


A convention of tattle—a tea-party bight, 

Which, like meeting of witches, is brew’d up at night, 

Where each matron arrives, fraught with tales of surprise 
With knowing suspicion and doubtful surmise ; 

Like the broomstick-whirl’d hags that appear in Macbeth, 
Each bearing some relic of venom or death, 

‘^To stir up the toil and to double the trouble. 

That fire may burn, and that cauldron may bubble.” 

When the party commences, all starch’d and all glum. 
They talk of the weather, their corns, or sit mum : 

They will tell you of cambric, of ribbons, of lace, 

How cheap they were sold—and will name you the place. 
They discourse of their colds, and they hem and they cough. 
And complain of their servants to pass the time off ; 

Or list to the tale of some doting mamma. 

How her ten weeks old baby will laugh and say taa I 

But tea, that enlivener of wit and of soul— 

More loquacious by far than the draughts of the bowl. 

Soon unloosens the tongue and enlivens the mind. 

And enlightens their eyes to the faults of mankind. 

’Twas thus with the Pythia, who served at the fount 
That fiowed near the far-famed Parnassian mount. 

While the steam was inhal’d of the sulphuric spring. 

Her vision expanded, her fancy took wing :— 

By its aid she pronounced the oracular will 
That Apollo commanded his sons to fulfill. 

But alas ! the sad vestal performing the rite. 

Appeared like a demon—terrific to sight. 

E’en the priests of Apollo averted their eyes. 

And the temple of Delphi resounded her cries. 


REPUTATIONS AND TEA, 


473 


But quitting the nymph of the tripod of yore, 

We return to the dames of the tea-pot once more. 

In harmless chit-chat an acquaintance they roast. 

And serve up a friend as they serve up a toast; 

Some gentle faux pas, or some female mistake, 

Is like sweetmeats delicious, or relished as cake ; 

A bit of broad scandal is like a dry crust. 

It would stick in the throat, so they butter it first 
With a little affected good-nature, and cry 
‘^Nobody regrets the thing deeper than L” 

Our young ladies nibble a good name in play 
As for pastime they nibble a biscuit away : 

While with shrugs and surmises, the toothless old dame.. 
As she mumbles a crust she will mumble a name ; 

And as the fell sisters astonished the Scot, 

In predicting of Banquo^s descendants the lot. 

Making shadows of kings, amid flashes of light 
To appear in array and to frown in his sight. 

So they conjure up spectres all hideous in hue. 

Which, as shades of their neighbors, are passed in review. 

The wives of our cits of inferior degree. 

Will soak up repute in a little bohea; 

The potion is vulgar, and vulgar the slang 

With which on their neighbors’ defects they harangue; 

But the scandal improves, a refinement in wrong. 

As our matrons are richer and rise to souchong. 

With hyson—a beverage that’s still more refin’d. 

Our ladies of fashion enliven their mind. 

And by nods, innuendoes, and hints, and what not. 
Reputations and tea send together to pot; 


474 


SALMAGUlsDL 


While madam in cambrics and laces array’d 
With her plate and her liveries in splendid parade. 

Will drink in imperial a friend at a sup, 

Or in gunpowder blow them by dozens all up. 

Ah me ! how I groan when with full swelling sail. 

Wafted stately along by the favoring gale, 

A China ship proudly arrives in our bay. 

Displaying her streamers and blazing away, 

0 ! more fell to our port, is the cargo she bears. 

Than grenadoes, torpedoes, or warlike affairs : 

Each chest is a bombshell thrown into our town 
To shatter repute and bring character down. 

Ye Samquas, ye Chinquas, ye Chouquas, so free. 

Who discharge on our coast your cursed quantums of tea, 
0 think, as ye waft the sad weed from your strand. 

Of the plagues and vexations ye deal to our land. 

As the Upas’ dread breath, o’er the plain where it flies. 
Empoisons and blasts each green blade that may rise. 

So wherever the leaves of your shrubs find their way. 

The social affections soon suffer decay : 

Like to Java’s drear waste they embarren the heart. 

Till the blossoms of love and of friendship depart. 

Ah, ladies, and was it by heaven design’d. 

That ye should be merciful, loving, and kind ? 

Did it form you like angels, and send you below 
To prophesy peace—to bid charity flow ? 

And have ye just left your primeval estate. 

And wandered so widely—so strangely of late ? 

Alas 1 the sad cause I too plainly can see— 

These evils have all come upon you through tea I 


TEA-PARTT CLACK. 


475 


Cursed weed, that can make our faint spirits resign 
The character mild of their mission divine ; 

That can blot from their bosoms that tenderness true, 
Which from female to female forever is due ! 

0 how nice is the texture—how fragile the frame 
Of that delicate blossom, a female’s fair fame I 
’Tis the sensitive plant, it recoils from the breath. 

And shrinks from the touch as if pregnant with death. 
How often, how often, has innocence sigh’d; 

Has beauty been reft of its honor—its pride; 

Has virtue, though pure as an angel of light. 

Been painted as dark as a demon of night: 

\11 offer’d up victims, an auto de fe, 

At the gloomy cabals—the dark orgies of tea I 
If I, in the remnant that’s left me of life. 

Am to suffer the torments of slanderous strife. 

Let me fall, I implore, in the slangwhanger’s claw, 
Where the evil is open, and subject to law. 

Not nibbled, and mumbled, and put to the rack. 

By the sly underminings of tea-party clack : 

Condemn me, ye gods, to a newspaper roasting. 

But spare me I 0, spare me, a tea-table toasting ! 


NO. XX.—MONDAY, JANUAET 25, 180a 


FROM MY ELBOW-CHAIR. 

“ Extremum hunc mihi concede laborem.”— Virg. 

“Soft you, a word or two before we part.” 

this season of festivity, when the gate of time 
swings open on its hinges, and an honest rosy- 
faced New Year comes waddling in, like a jolly 
fat-sided alderman, loaded with good wishes, good hu¬ 
mor, and minced pies,—at this joyous era it has been 
the custom, from time immemorial, in this ancient and 
respectable city, for periodical writers, from reverend, 
grave, and potent essayists like ourselves, down to the 
humble but industrious editors of magazines, reviews, 
and newspapers, to tender their subscribers the compli¬ 
ments of the season; and when they have slyly thawed 
their hearts with a little of the sunshine of flattery, to 
conclude by delicately dunning them for their arrears of 
subscription money. In like manner the carriers of 
newspapers, who undoubtedly belong to the ancient and 
honorable order of literati, do regularly at the com¬ 
mencement of the year, salute their patrons with abun^ 
dance of excellent advice, conveyed in exceedingly good 

476 








NEW-TEAR CIVILITIES. 


477 


poetry, for which the aforesaid good-natured patrons are 
well pleased to pay them exactly twenty-five cents. In 
walking the streets I am every day saluted with good 
wishes from old gray-headed negroes, whom I never rec¬ 
ollect to have seen before; and it was but a few days 
ago, that I was called to receive the compliments of 
an ugly old woman, who last spring was employed by 
Mrs. Cockloft to whitewash my room and put things in 
order; a phrase which, if rightly understood, means 
little else than huddling everything into holes and cor¬ 
ners, so that if I want to find any particular article, 
it is, in the language of a humble but expressive say¬ 
ing—“looking for a needle in a haystack.” Not recog¬ 
nizing my visitor, I demanded by what authority she 
wished me a “ Happy New Year ! ” Her claim was one 
of the weakest she could have urged, for I have an in¬ 
nate and mortal antipathy to this custom of putting 
things to rights; so giving the old witch a pistareen, I 
desired her forthwith to mount her broomstick, and ride 
off as fast as possible. 

Of all the various ranks of society, the bakers alone, 
to their immortal honor be it recorded, depart from this 
practice of making a market of congratulations; and in 
addition to always allowing thirteen to the dozen, do 
with great liberality, instead of drawing on the purses of 
their customers at the New Year, present them with 
divers large, fair, spiced cakes ; which, like the shield of 
Achilles, or an Egyptian obelisk, are adorned with fig- 


478 


SALMAGUNDI. 


ures of a variety of strange animals, that, in their con¬ 
formation, out-marvel all the wild wonders of nature. 

This honest gray-beard custom of setting apart a cer¬ 
tain portion of this good-for-nothing existence for the 
purposes of cordiality, social merriment, and good-cheer, 
is one of the inestimable relics handed down to us from 
our worthy Dutch ancestors. In perusing one of the 
manuscripts from my worthy grandfather’s mahogany 
chest of drawers, I find the New Year was celebrated 
with great festivity during that golden age of our city, 
when the reins of government were held by the renowned 
Eip Van Dam, who always did honor to the season by 
seeing out the old year; a ceremony which consisted in 
plying his guests with bumpers, until not one of them 
was capable of seeing. “ Truly,” observes my grand¬ 
father, who was generally of these parties,—“ Truly, he 
was a most stately and magnificent burgomaster! inas¬ 
much, as he did right lustily carouse it with his friends 
about New Year; roasting huge quantities of turkeys; 
baking innumerable minced pies ; and smacking the lips 
of all fair ladies the which he did meet, with such sturdy 
emphasis that the same might have been heard the dis¬ 
tance of a stone’s throw.” In his days, according to my 
grandfather, first were invented these notable cakes, 
hight new-year-cookies, which originally were impressed 
on one side with the honest burly countenance of the 
illustrious Kip; and on the other with that of the noted 
St. Nicholas, vulgarly called Santa Claus, of all the 


NEW-TEAR FESTIVITY. 


479 


saints of the calendar the most venerated by true Hol¬ 
landers and their unsophisticated descendants. These 
cakes are to this time given on the first of January to all 
visitors, together with a glass of cherry -bounce, or rasp¬ 
berry-brandy. It is with great regret, however, I ob¬ 
serve that the simplicity of this venerable usage has 
been much violated by modern pretenders to style, and 
our respectable new-year-cookies and cherry-bounce el¬ 
bowed aside by plum-cake and outlandish liqueurs, in 
the same way that our worthy old Dutch families are 
out-dazzled by modern upstarts and mushroom cockneys. 

In addition to this divine origin of New-Year festiv¬ 
ity, there is something exquisitely grateful, to a good- 
natured mind, in seeing every face dressed in smiles; 
in hearing the oft-repeated salutations that flow spon¬ 
taneously from the heart to the lips; in beholding the 
poor, for once, enjoying the smiles of plenty, and forget¬ 
ting the cares which press hard upon them, in the jovial 
revelry of the feelings; the young children, decked out 
in their Sunday clothes, and freed from their only cares, 
the cares of the school, tripping through the streets on 
errands of pleasure; and even the very negroes, those 
holiday-loving rogues, gorgeously arrayed in cast-off 
finery, collected in juntos, at corners, displaying their 
white teeth, and making the welkin ring with bursts of 
laughter loud enough to crack even the icy cheek of old 
winter. There is something so pleasant in all this, that 
I confess it would give me real pain, to behold the frigid 


480 


SALMAGUNDI. 


influence of modern style cheating us of this jubilee of 
the heart; and converting it, as it does every other 
article of social intercourse, into an idle and unmeaning 
ceremony. ’Tis the annual festival of good-humor; it 
comes in the dead of winter, when nature is without a 
charm, when our pleasures are contracted to the fireside, 
and when everything that unlocks the icy fetters of the 
heart, and sets the genial current flowing, should be 
cherished, as a stray lamb found in the wilderness; or a 
flower blooming among thorns and briers. 

Animated by these sentiments, it is with peculiar 
satisfaction I perceived that the last New Year was 
kept with more than ordinary enthusiasm. It seemed 
as if the good old times had rolled back again, and 
brought with them all the honest, unceremonious inter¬ 
course of those golden days, when people were more 
open and sincere, more moral and more hospitable than 
now; when every object carried about it a charm which 
the hand of time has stolen away, or turned to a de¬ 
formity; when the women were more simple, more 
domestic, more lovely, and more true; and when even 
the sun, like a hearty old blade as he is, shone with a 
genial lustre unknown in these degenerate days,—in 
short, those fairy times when I was a madcap boy, 
crowding every enjoyment into the present moment; 
making of the past an oblivion; of the future a heaven; 
and careless of all that was “Over the hills and far 
away.’* Only one thing was wanting to make every part 


COMPLIMENTS OF TEE SEASON, 


481 


of the celebration accord with its ancient simplicity. 
The ladies, who—I write it with the most piercing regret 
—are generally at the head of all domestic innovations, 
most fastidiously refused that mark of good-will, that 
chaste and holy salute which was so fashionable in the 
happy days of Governor Eip and the patriarchs. Even 
the Miss Cocklofts, who belong to a family that is the 
last intrenchment behind which the manners of the good 
old school have retired, made violent opposition; and 
whenever a gentleman entered the room, immediately 
put themselves in a posture of defense. This, Will 
Wizard, with his usual shrewdness, insists was only to 
give the visitor a hint that they expected an attack; and 
declares he has uniformly observed, that the resistance 
of those ladies, who make the greatest noise and bustle, 
is most easily overcome. This sad innovation originated 
with my good aunt Charity, who was as arrant a tabby 
as ever wore whiskers; and I am not a little afflicted to 
find that she has found so many followers, even among 
the young and beautiful. 

In compliance with an ancient and venerable custom, 
sanctioned by time and our ancestors, and more espe¬ 
cially by my own inclinations, I will take this opportunity 
to salute my readers with as many good wishes as I can 
possibly spare ; for, in truth, I have been so prodigal of 
late, that I have but few remaining. I should have 
offered my congratulations sooner; but, to be candid, 
having made the last New-Year’s campaign, according to 
31 


482 


8ALMAQUNDL 


custom, under Cousin Christopher, in which I have seen 
some pretty hard service, my head has been somewhat 
out of order of late, and my intellects rather cloudy for 
clear writing. Besides, I may allege as another reason, - 
that I have deferred my greetings until this day, which 
is exactly one year since we introduced ourselves to the 
public; and surely periodical writers have the same right 
of dating from the commencement of their works, that 
monarchs have from the time of their coronation, or our 
most puissant republic from the declaration of its inde¬ 
pendence. 

These good wishes are warmed into more than usual 
benevolence by the thought that I am now, perhaps, 
addressing my old friends for the last time. That we 
should thus cut off our work in the very vigor of its ex¬ 
istence, may excite some little matter of wonder in this 
enlightened community. Now, though we could give a 
variety of good reasons for so doing, yet it would be an 
ill-natured act to deprive the public of such an admir¬ 
able opportunity to indulge in their favorite amusement 
of conjecture; so we generously leave them to flounder 
in the smooth ocean of glorious uncertainty. Besides, we 
have ever considered it as beneath persons of our dignity 
to account for our movements or caprices ; thank heaven, 
we are not like the unhappy rulers of this enlightened 
land, accountable to the mob for our actions, or depend¬ 
ent on their smiles for support!—this much, however, 
we will say, it is not for want of subjects that we stop our 


PARTING PHILANTHROPY, 


483 


career. We are not in the situation of poor Alexander 
the Great, who wept, as well indeed he might, because 
there were no more worlds to conquer; for, to do justice 
to this queer, odd, rantipole city, and to this whimsical 
country, there is matter enough in them to keep our 
risible muscles and our pens going till doomsday. 

Most people, in taking a farewell which may, perhaps, 
be forever, are anxious to part on good terms; and it is 
usual, on such melancholy occasions, for even enemies 
to shake hands, forget their previous quarrels, and bury 
all former animosities in parting regrets. Now, because 
most people do this, I am determined to act in quite a dif¬ 
ferent way; for, as I have lived, so I should wish to die, in 
my own way, without imitating any person, whatever may 
be his rank, talents, or reputation. Besides, if I know 
our trio, we have no enmities to obliterate, no hatchet to 
bury; and as to all injuries—those we have long since 
forgiven. At this moment there is not an individual in 
the world, not even the Pope himself, to whom we have 
any personal hostility. But if, shutting their eyes to the 
many striking proofs of good-nature displayed through 
the whole course of this work, there should be any per¬ 
sons so singularly ridiculous as to take offense at our 
strictures, we heartily forgive their stupidity; earnestly 
entreating them to desist from all manifestations of ill- 
humor, lest they should, peradventure, be classed under 
some one of the denominations of recreants we have felt 
it our duty to hold up to public ridicule. Even at this 


484 


8ALMAGUNDL 


moment, we feel a glow of parting philanthropy stealing 
upon us; a sentiment of cordial good-will toward the 
numerous host of readers that have jogged on at our 
heels during the last year; and in justice to ourselves 
must seriously protest, that if at any time we have 
treated them a little ungently, it was purely in that 
spirit of hearty affection, with which a schoolmaster 
drubs an unlucky urchin, or a humane muleteer his 
recreant animal, at the very moment when his heart is 
brimful of loving-kindness. If this is not considered an 
ample justification, so much the worse; for in that case 
I fear we shall remain forever unjustified—a most des¬ 
perate extremity, and worthy of every man’s commiser¬ 
ation ! 

One circumstance, in particular, has tickled us might¬ 
ily as we jogged along; and that is, the astonishing 
secrecy with which we have been able to carry on our 
lucubrations! fully aware of the profound sagacity of 
the public of Gotham, and their wonderful faculty of 
distinguishing a writer by his style, it is with great self- 
congratulation we find that suspicion has never pointed 
to us as the authors of Salmagundi. Our gray-beard 
speculations have been most bountifully attributed to 
sundry smart young gentlemen, who, for aught we know, 
have no beards at all; and we have often been highly 
amused when they were charged with the sin of writing 
what their harmless minds never conceived, to see them 
affect all the blushing modesty and beautiful embarrass- 


FIRST INTENTIONS. 


485 


ment of detected virgin authors. The profound and 
penetrating public, having so long been led away from 
truth and nature by a constant perusal of those delec¬ 
table histories, and romances, from beyond seas, in which 
human nature is, for the most part, wickedly mangled 
and debauched, have never once imagined this work was 
a genuine and most authentic history; that the Cocklofts 
were a real family, dwelling in the city, paying scot and 
lot, entitled to the right of suffrage, and holding several 
respectable offices in the corporation. As little do they 
suspect that there is a knot of merry old bachelors 
seated snugly in the old-fashioned parlor of an old- 
fashioned Dutch house, with a weathercock on the top 
that came from Holland; who amuse themselves of an 
evening by laughing at their neighbors, in an honest 
way, and who manage to jog on through the streets of 
our ancient and venerable city, without elbowing or 
being elbowed by a living soul. 

When we first adopted the idea of discontinuing this 
work, we determined, in order to give the critics a fair 
opportunity for dissection, to declare ourselves, one and 
all, absolutely defunct; for it is one of the rare and 
invaluable privileges of a periodical writer, that by an 
act of innocent suicide he may lawfully consign himself 
to the grave, and cheat the world of posthumous renown. 
But we abandoned this scheme for many substantial 
reasons. In the first place, we care but little for the 
opinion of critics, whom we consider a kind of free- 


486 


SALMAGUNDL 


hooters in the republic of letters; who, like deer, goats, 
and divers other graminivorous animals, gain subsist¬ 
ence by gorging upon the buds and leaves of the young 
shrubs of the forest, thereby robbing them of their verd¬ 
ure, and retarding their progress to maturity. It also 
occurred to us, that though an author might lawfully, in 
all countries, kill himself outright, yet this privilege did 
not extend to the raising himself from the dead, if he 
was ever so anxious; and all that is left him in such a 
case, is to take the benefit of the metempsychosis act, 
and revive under a new name and form. 

Far be it, therefore, from us to condemn ourselves to 
useless embarrassments, should we ever be disposed to 
resume the guardianship of this learned city of Gotham, 
and finish this invaluable work, which is yet but half 
completed. We hereby openly and seriously declare, 
that we are not dead, but intend, if it please Providence, 
to live for many years to come, to enjoy life with the 
genuine relish of honest souls, careless of riches, honors, 
and everything but a good name, among good fellows, 
and with the full expectation of shuffling off the remnant 
of existence after the excellent fashion of that merry 
Grecian, who died laughing. 


AN HONEST CONFESSION, 


487 


TO THE LADIES. 


BY ANTHONY EVERGREEN, GENT. 



'EXT to our being a knot of independent old bach¬ 


elors, there is nothing on which we pride ourselves 
more highly than upon possessing that true chivalric 
spirit of gallantry which distinguished the days of King 
Arthur and his valiant Knights of the Kound Table. We 
cannot, therefore, leave the lists where we have so long 
been tilting at folly, without giving a farewell salutation 
to those noble dames and beauteous damsels who have 
honored us with their presence at the tourney. Lika 
true knights, the only recompense we crave is the smile 
of beauty, and the approbation of those gentle fair ones, 
whose smile and whose approbation far excels all the 
trophies of honor, and all the rewards of successful 
ambition. True it is that we have suffered infinite 
perils, in standing forth as their champions, from the 
sly attacks of sundry arch caitiffs, who, in the overflow¬ 
ings of their malignity, have even accused us of entering 
the lists as defenders of the very foibles and faults of 
the sex. Would that we could meet with these recreants 
hand to hand ; they should receive no more quarter than 
giants and enchanters in romance. 

Had we a spark of vanity in our natures, here is a 
glorious occasion to show our skill in refuting these 
illiberal insinuations; but there is something manly and 


488 


SALMAGUNDL 


ingenuous in making an honest confession of one^s 
offenses when about retiring from the world; and so, 
without any more ado, we doff our helmets, and thus 
publicly plead guilty to the deadly sin of good-nature ; 
hoping and expecting forgiveness from our good-natured 
readers—yet careless whether they bestow it or not. 
And in this we do but imitate sundry condemned crim¬ 
inals, who, finding themselves convicted of a capital 
crime, with great openness and candor, do generally, in 
their last dying speech, make a confession of all their 
previous offenses, which confession is always read with 
great delight by all true lovers of biography. 

Still, however, notwithstanding our notorious devotion 
to the gentle sex, and our indulgent partiality, we have 
endeavored, on divers occasions, with all the polite and 
becoming delicacy of true respect, to reclaim them from 
many of those delusive follies and unseemly peccadilloes 
in which they are unhappily too prone to indulge. We 
have warned them against the sad consequences of en¬ 
countering our midnight damps and withering wintry 
blasts; we have endeavored, with pious hands, to snatch 
them from the wildering mazes of the waltz, and thus 
rescuing them from the arms of strangers, to restore 
them to the bosoms of their friends; to preserve them 
from the nakedness, the famine, the cobweb muslins, the 
vinegar cruet, the corset, the stay-tape, the buckram, 
and all the other miseries and racks of a fine figure. 
But, above all, we have endeavored to lure them from 


JOTS OF HOME. 


489 


tliG mazes of a dissipated world, where they wandei 
about, careless of their value, until they lose their orig¬ 
inal worth; and to restore them, before it is too late, 
to the sacred asylum of home, the soil most congenial 
to the opening blossom of female loveliness, where it 
blooms and expands in safety, in the fostering sunshine 
of maternal affection, and where its heavenly sweets are 
best known and appreciated. 

Modern philosophers may determine the proper des¬ 
tination of the sex; they may assign to them an exten¬ 
sive and brilliant orbit, in which to revolve, to the 
delight of the million and the confusion of man’s supe¬ 
rior intellect; but when on this subject we disclaim 
philosophy, and appeal to the higher tribunal of the 
heart—and what heart that had not lost its better feel¬ 
ings, would ever seek to repose its happiness on the 
bosom of one whose pleasures all lay without the thresh¬ 
old of home—who snatched enjoyment only in the 
whirlpool of dissipation, and amid the thoughtless and 
evanescent gayety of a ball-room? The fair one who 
is forever in the career of amusement may for a while 
dazzle, astonish, and entertain; but we are content with 
coldly admiring, and fondly turn from glitter and noise, 
to seek the happy fireside of social life, there to confide 
our dearest and best affections. 

Yet some there are—and we delight to mention them 
—who mingle freely with the world, unsullied by its 
contaminations; whose brilliant minds, like the stars of 


490 


SALMAGUNDI. 


the firmament, are destined to shed their light abroad 
and gladden every beholder with their radiance—to 
withhold them from the world would be doing it in¬ 
justice—they are inestimable gems, which were never 
formed to be shut up in caskets, but to be the pride 
and ornament of elegant society. 

We have endeavored always to discriminate between a 
female of this superior order and the thoughtless votary 
of pleasure, who, destitute of intellectual resources, is 
servilely dependent on others for every little pittance 
of enjoyment; who exhibits herself incessantly amid the 
noise, the giddy frolic, and capricious vanity of fashion¬ 
able assemblages ; dissipating her languid affection on a 
crowd; lavishing her ready smiles with indiscriminate 
prodigality on the worthy or the undeserving; and lis¬ 
tening with equal vacancy of mind to the conversation of 
the enlightened, the frivolity of the coxcomb, and the 
flourish of the fiddle-stick. 

There is a certain artificial polish—a common-place 
vivacity acquired by perpetually mingling in the beau 
monde^ which, in the commerce of the world, supplies 
the place of natural suavity or good-humor; but is 
purchased at the expense of all original and sterling 
traits of character. By a kind of fashionable discipline 
the eye is taught to brighten, the lip to smile, and the 
whole countenance to irradiate with the semblance of 
friendly welcome, while the bosom is unwarmed by a 
single spark of genuine kindness or good-will. The 


AN ALLEGORY. 


491 


elegant simulation may be admired by the connoisseur 
of human character as a perfection of art, but the heart 
is not to be deceived by the superficial illusion; it turns 
■with delight to the timid, retiring fair one, whose smile 
is the smile of nature; whose blush is the soft suffusion 
of delicate sensibility; and whose affections, unblighted 
by the chilling effects of dissipation, glow with all the 
tenderness and purity of artless youth. Hers is a single¬ 
ness of mind, a native innocence of manners, and a sweet 
timidity that steal insensibly upon the heart, and lead it 
a willing captive; though venturing occasionally among 
the fairy haunts of pleasure, she shrinks from the broad 
glare of notoriety, and seems to seek refuge among her 
friends, even from the admiration of the world. 

These observations bring to mind a little allegory in 
one of the manuscripts of the sage Mustapha, which, 
being in some measure applicable to the subject of this 
essay, we transcribe for the benefit of our fair readers. 

Among the numerous race of the Bedouins, who peo¬ 
ple the vast tracts of Arabia Deserta, is a small tribe, 
remarkable for their habits of solitude and love of inde¬ 
pendence. They are of a rambling disposition, roving 
from waste to waste, slaking their thirst at such scanty 
pools as are found in those cheerless plains, and glory 
in the unenvied liberty they enjoy. A youthful Arab of 
this tribe, a simple son of nature, at length growing 
weary of his precarious and unsettled mode of life, de¬ 
termined to set out in search of some permanent abode. 


492 


SALMAGUNDI. 


** I will seek,” said he, “ some happy region, some gener¬ 
ous clime, where the dews of heaven diffuse fertility; I 
will find out some unfailing stream, and, forsaking the 
joyless life of my forefathers, settle on its borders, dis¬ 
pose my mind to gentle pleasures and tranquil enjoy¬ 
ments, and never wander more.” 

Enchanted with this picture of pastoral felicity, he 
departed from the tents of his companions; and having 
journeyed during five days, on the sixth, as the sun was 
just rising in all the splendors of the East, he lifted up 
his eyes and beheld extended before him, in smiling 
luxuriance, the fertile regions of Arabia the Happy. 
Gently swelling hills, tufted with blooming grove, swept 
down into luxuriant vales, enameled with flowers of 
never-withering beauty. The sun, no longer darting his 
rays with torrid fervor, beamed with a genial warmth 
that gladdened and enriched the landscape. A pure and 
temperate serenity, an air of voluptuous repose, a smile 
of contented abundance, pervaded the face of nature, and 
every zephyr breathed a thousand delicious odors. The 
soul of the youthful wanderer expanded with delight— 
he raised his eyes to heaven, and almost mingled with 
his tribute of gratitude, a sigh of regret that he had 
lingered so long amid the sterile solitudes of the desert. 

With fond impatience he hastened to make choice of a 
stream where he might fix his habitation, and taste the 
promised sweets of this land of delight. But here com¬ 
menced an unforeseen perplexity; for, though he beheld 


DISAPPOINTMENT. 


493 


innumerable streams on every side, yet not one could he 
find which completely answered his high-raised expecta¬ 
tions. One abounded with wild and picturesque beauty, 
but it was capricious and unsteady in its course; some¬ 
times dashing its angry billows against the rocks, and 
often raging and overflowing its banks. Another flowed 
smoothly along, without even a ripple or a murmur; but 
its bottom was soft and muddy, and its current dull and 
sluggish. A third was pure and transparent, but its 
waters were of a chilling coldness, and it had rocks and 
flints in its bosom. A fourth was dulcet in its tinklings, 
and graceful in its meanderings; but it had a cloying 
sweetness that palled upon the taste; while a fifth pos¬ 
sessed a sparkling vivacity, and a pungency of flavor, 
that deterred the wanderer from repeating his draught. 

The youthful Bedouin began to weary with fruitless 
trials and repeated disappointments, when his attention 
was suddenly attracted by a lively brook whose dancing 
waves glittered in the sunbeams, and whose prattling 
current communicated an air of bewitching gayety to the 
surrounding landscape. The heart of the wayworn trav¬ 
eller beat with expectation; but on regarding it atten¬ 
tively on its course, he found that it constantly avoided 
the embowering shade, loitering with equal fondness, 
whether gliding through the rich valley, or over the 
barren sand; that the fragrant flower, the fruitful shrub, 
and the worthless bramble were alike fostered by its 
waves, and that its current was often interrupted by 


494 


8ALMA9UNDL 


unprofitable weeds. With idle ambition it expanded 
itself beyond its proper bounds, and spread into a shal¬ 
low waste of water, destitute of beauty or utility, and 
babbling along with uninteresting vivacity and vapid 
turbulence. 

The wandering son of the desert turned away with 
a sigh of regret, and pitied a stream which, if content 
within its natural limits, might have been the pride of 
the valley, and the object of all his wishes. Pensive, 
musing, and disappointed, he slowly pursued his now 
almost hopeless pilgrimage, and had rambled for some 
time along the margin of a gentle rivulet, before he be¬ 
came sensible of its beauties. It was a simple pastoral 
stream, which, shunning the noonday glare, pursued its 
unobtrusive course through retired and tranquil vales; 
now dimpling among flowery banks and tufted shrub¬ 
bery ; now winding among spicy groves, whose aromatic 
foliage fondly bent down to meet the limpid wave. 
Sometimes, but not often, it would venture from its 
covert to stray through a flowery meadow; but quickly, 
as if fearful of being seen, stole back again into its more 
congenial shade, and there lingered with sweet delay. 
Wherever it bent its course, the face of nature bright¬ 
ened into smiles, and a perennial spring reigned upon its 
borders. The warblers of the woodland delighted to 
quit their recesses and carol among its bowers; while 
the turtle-dove, the timid fawn, the soft-eyed gazelle, 
and all the rural populace, who joy in the sequestered 


MORE TRIBULATION. 


495 


haunts of nature, resorted to its vicinity. Its pure trans¬ 
parent waters rolled over snow-white sands, and heaven 
itself was reflected in its tranquil bosom. 

The simple Arab threw himself upon its verdant mar¬ 
gin ; he tasted the silver tide, and it was like nectar to 
his lips; he bounded with transport, for he had found 
the object of his wayfaring. “ Here,” cried he, “ will I 
pitch my tent: here will I pass my days; for pure, O 
fair stream, is thy gentle current; beauteous are thy 
borders; and the grove must be a paradise that is re¬ 
freshed by thy meanderings ! ” 


“Pendant opera interrupta.”— Virg. 
“ The work’s all aback.”— Lirik. Fid. 



ow hard it is,” exclaims the divine Confutse, 


better known among the illiterate by the name 
of Confucius, “ for a man to bite off his own nose ! ” At 
this moment I, William Wizard, Esq., feel the full force 
of this remark, and cannot but give vent to my tribula¬ 
tion at being obliged, through the whim of friend Lang- 
staff, to stop short in my literary career, when at the 
very point of astonishing my country, and reaping the 
brightest laurels of literature. We daily hear of ship¬ 
wrecks, of failures and bankruptcies; they are trifling 
mishaps which, from their frequency, excite but little 
astonishment or sympathy; but it is not often that we 



496 


SALMAGUNDI. 


hear of a man’s letting immortality slip through his 
fingers; and when he does meet with such a misfortune, 
who would deny him the comfort of bewailing his ca¬ 
lamity ? 

Next to embargo, laid upon our commerce, the greatest 
public annoyance is the embargo laid upon our work; in 
consequence of which, the produce of my wits, like that 
of my country, must remain at home; and my ideas, like 
so many merchantmen in port, or redoubtable frigates in 
the Potomac, moulder away in the mud of my own brain. 
I know of few things in this world more annoying than 
to be interrupted in the middle of a favorite story, at the 
most interesting part, where one expects to shine, or to 
have a conversation broken off just when you are about 
coming out with a score of excellent jokes, not one of 
which but was good enough to make every fine figure in 
corsets literally split her sides with laughter. In some 
such predicament am I placed at present; and I do pro¬ 
test to you, my good-looking and well-beloved readers, 
by the chop-sticks of the immortal Josh, I was on the 
very brink of treating you with a full broadside of the 
most ingenious and instructive essays that your precious 
noddles were ever bothered with. 

In the first place, I had, with infinite labor and pains, 
and by consulting the divine Plato, Sanchoniathon, Apol¬ 
lonius, Phodius, Sir John Harrington, Noah Webster, 
Linkum Fidelius, and others, fully refuted all those wild 
theories respecting the first settlement of our venerable 


IMPORTANT NEWS, 


497 


Bountry; and proTed, beyond contradiction, that Amer¬ 
ica, so far from being, as the writers of upstart Europe 
denominate it, the new world, is at least as old as any 
country in existence, not excepting Egypt, China, or even 
the land of the Assiniboins; which, according to the 
traditions of that ancient people, has already assisted 
at the funerals of thirteen suns, and four hundred and 
seventy thousand moons! 

I had likewise written a long dissertation on certain 
hieroglyphics discovered on those fragments of the 
moon, which have lately fallen, with singular propriety, 
in a neighboring State, and have thrown considerable 
light on the state of literature and the arts in that 
planet, showing that the universal language which pre¬ 
vails there is high Dutch; thereby proving it to be the 
most ancient and original tongue, and corroborating the 
opinion of a celebrated poet, that it is the language in 
which the serpent tempted our grandmother Eve. 

To support the theatric department, I had several very 
judicious critiques, ready written, wherein no quarter 
was shown either to authors or actors; and I was only 
waiting to determine at what plays or performances they 
should be leveled. As to the grand spectacle of Cin¬ 
derella, which is to be represented this season, I had 
given it a most unmerciful handling, showing that it was 
neither tragedy, comedy, nor farce; that the incidents 
were highly improbable, that the prince played like a 
perfect harlequin, that the white mice were merely pow- 


498 


SALMAGUNDI. 


dered for the occasion, and that the new moon had a 
most outrageous copper nose. 

But my most profound and erudite essay in embryo is 
an analytical, hypercritical review of these Salmagundi 
lucubrations; which I had written partly in revenge for 
the many waggish jokes played off against me by my 
confederates, and partly for the purpose of saving much 
invaluable labor to the Zoiluses and Dennises of the age, 
by detecting and exposing all the similarities, resem¬ 
blances, synonymies, analogies, coincidences, etc., which 
occur in this work. 

I hold it downright plagiarism for any author to write, 
or even to think, in the same manner with any other 
writer that either did, doth, or may exist. It is a sage 
maxim of law —Ignorantia neminem excusaV '—and the 
same has been extended to literature: so that if an 
author shall publish an idea that has been ever hinted 
by another, it shall be no exculpation for him to plead 
ignorance of the fact. All, therefore, that I had to do 
was to take a good pair of spectacles, or a magnifying 
glass, and with Salmagundi in hand and a tableful of 
books before me, to muse over them alternately, in a 
corner of Cockloft library : carefully comparing and con¬ 
trasting all odd ends and fragments of sentences. Little 
did honest Launce suspect, when he sat lounging and 
scribbling in his elbow-chair with no other stock to 
draw upon than his own brain, and no other authority to 
consult than the sage Linkum Fidelius—little did he 


TAKEN TO TASK. 499 

think that his careless, unstudied effusions would receive 
such scrupulous investigation. 

By laborious researches, and patiently collating words, 
where sentences and ideas did not correspond, I have 
detected sundry sly disguises and metamorphoses of 
which. I’ll be bound, Langstaff himself is ignorant. Thus, 
for instance—the little man in black is evidently no less 
a personage than old Goody Blake or Goody something, 
filched from the Spectator, who confessedly filched her 
from Otway’s “wrinkled hag with age grown double.” 
My friend Launce has taken the honest old woman, 
dressed her up in the cast-off suit worn by Twaits, in 
Lampedo, and endeavored to palm the imposture upon 
the enlightened inhabitants of Gotham. No further 
proof of the fact need be given, than that Goody Blake 
was taken for a witch, and the little man in black for 
a conjurer; and that they both lived in villages, the 
inhabitants of which were distinguished by a most re¬ 
spectful abhorrence of hobgoblins and broomsticks; to 
be sure the astonishing similarity ends here, but surely 
that is enough to prove that the little man in black is no 
other than Goody Blake in the disguise of a white witch. 

Thus, also, the sage Mustapha, in mistaking a brag- 
party for a convention of magi studying hieroglyphics, 
may pretend to originality of idea and to a familiar 
acquaintance with the black-letter literati of the East. 
But this Tripolitan trick will not pass here; I refer 
those who wish to detect his larceny to one of those 


500 


SALMAGUNDI. 


wholesale jumbles, or hodge-podge collections of science, 
which, like a tailor’s pandemonium or a giblet-pie, are 
receptacles for scientific fragments of all sorts and sizes. 
The reader, learned in dictionary studies, will at once 
perceive I mean an encyclopaedia. There, under the title 
of Magi, Egypt, Cards, or Hieroglyphics, I forget which, 
will be discovered an idea similar to that of Mustapha, 
as snugly concealed as truth at the bottom of a well, or 
the mistletoe amid the shady branches of an oak; and it 
may at any time be drawn from its lurking-place, by 
those hewers of wood, and drawers of water, who labor 
in humbler walks of criticism. This is assuredly a most 
unpardonable error of the sage Mustapha, who had been 
the captain of a ketch; and, of course, as your nautical 
men are for the most part very learned, ought to have 
known better. But this is not the only blunder of the 
grave Mussulman who swears by the head of Amrou, the 
beard of Barbarossa, and the sword of Khalid, as glibly 
as our good Christian soldiers anathematize body and 
soul, or a sailor his eyes and odd limbs. Now I sol¬ 
emnly pledge myself to the world, that in all my travels 
through the East, in Persia, Arabia, China, and Egypt, I 
never heard man, woman, or child, utter any of those 
preposterous and new-fangled asseverations; and that, 
so far from swearing by any man’s head, it is considered, 
throughout the East, the greatest insult that can be 
offered to either the living or dead to meddle in any 
shape even with his beard. These are but two or three 


LAUNCELOrS PLAGIARISMS. 


501 


specimens of the exposures I would have made; but I 
should have descended still lower; nor would have 
spared the most insignificant and, or but, or neverthe¬ 
less, provided I could have found a ditto in the “ Spec¬ 
tator” or the dictionary; but all these minutiae I 
bequeath to the Liliputian literati of this sagacious 
community, who are fond of hunting “ such small deer,” 
and I earnestly pray they may find full employment for 
a twelvemonth to come. 

But the most outrageous plagiarisms of friend Laun- 
celot are those made on sundry living personages. 
Thus: Tom Straddle has been evidently stolen from a 
distinguished Brummagem emigrant, since they both 
ride on horseback; Dabble, the little great man, has his 
origin in a certain aspiring counselor, who is rising in 
the world as rapidly as the heaviness of his head will 
permit; mine uncle John will bear a tolerable compar¬ 
ison, particularly as it respects the sterling qualities of 
his heart, with a worthy yeoman of Westchester County; 
and to deck out Aunt Charity, and the amiable Miss 
Cocklofts, he has rifled the charms of half the ancient 
vestals in the city. Nay, he has taken unpardonable 
liberties with my own person!—elevating me on the 
substantial pedestals of a worthy gentleman from China, 
and tricking me out with claret coats, tight breeches, and 
silver-sprigged dickeys, in such sort that I can scarcely 
recognize my own resemblance; whereas I absolutely 
declare that I am an exceeding good-looking man, 


502 


8ALMAGUNDL 


neither too tall nor too short, too old nor too young, 
with a person indifferently robust, a head rather inclin¬ 
ing to be large, an easy swing in my walk, and that 1 
wear my own hair, neither queue'^, nor cropped, nor 
turned up, but in a fair, pendulous oscillating club, tied 
with a yard of ninepenny black ribbon. 

And now having said all that occurs to me on the 
present pathetic occasion—having made my speech, 
wrote my eulogy, and drawn my portrait, I bid my 
readers an affectionate farewell; exhorting hem to live 
honestly and soberly—paying their taxes, and reverenc¬ 
ing the state, the church, and the corporation—reading 
diligently the Bible and almanac, the newspaper and 
Salmagundi ; which is all the reading an honest citizen 
has occasion for—and eschewing all spirit of faction, 
discontent, irreligion, and criticism. 

Which is all at present 

From their departed friend, 

William Wizard. 


THs sm 



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